


The Ballad of John Deacon

by writingfromtheheart (MariannaRC89)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Band as Family, Band members coming to term with themselves, Before the band made it big, Brian being called a gentle giant, Brian is a mother hen, Brian is sensible and smart, Brian tried to take care of others instead of himself, Brotherhood, But a good year after they first played together, But don't worry about it, Character Study, Clueless Deaky, Deaky doesn't know his place in the band, Deaky learns how important he is to his brothers, Drama all around, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally constipated John, Emotionally constipated Roger, Emotionally constipated everyone, Except Deaky, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Freddie is an optimistic little shit, Freddie is warm and loving, Freddie is wise, Goes deep into emotions, Growth, Hospital Setting, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I'm in love with them, Idiots in Love, Introspection, John is sick, John is stubborn, John loves Roger back but he doesn't know, John's mom is a BAMF, Loner Deaky, Lots of psychology into it, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Psychological Journeys, Relationship Goals, Roger is temperamental and passionate, Roger loves him so much and they all know, Roger won't accept it though, Roger would kill for Deaky, Self deprecating John Deacon, Sensitive and Sassy!Deaky, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Smut, So much friendship and love, Super angsty, Sweetest Smut Ever, The band wants to take care of him, The timeline is unclear, They would all kill for each other, all the band loves him though, but also super sweet, fierce!Roger, has to see it, lots of mentions of death, love all around, oblivious dorks, overlyprotective!Roger, perfectionist!Brian, protective!Freddie, protective!brian, send help, smut with feelings, so much love, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 00:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 80,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariannaRC89/pseuds/writingfromtheheart
Summary: John Deacon faces loosing everything he has because of complications with the heart condition he has had since childhood.How will the band deal with this? How will he deal with this? And why does he keep thinking about Roger's pretty eyes?-----Or, John gets really sick, is a stubborn ass who doesn't want help and the band protects him anyways.Ohh and he falls in love with Roger in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm in love with this band from the 70s. And this is the sickfic no one asked for but I wanted to write. I hope you like it. I gave it my all.
> 
> The timeline is muddled. They have been playing for a while now but haven't recorded anything yet. If you think about the movie, it takes place between their performance of "Keep Yourself Alive" and when their van breaks down.
> 
> I did this thinking more of the cast of BohoRap, but I love Queen equally though. 
> 
> Think of whomever rocks your boat.

Deaky plucked a few strings from his bass, waiting around until the rest of the band settled and got ready for practice.

He had gotten early to their small, shared, practice space, plugged his instrument to his amplifier and waited around for the guys to arrive because he had to tell them something... something he hadn’t managed to say just yet.

Even if his original plan was to tell them before they even started playing. Why had he taken out his bass and plugged it in, if he was supposed to break the news he was quitting the band before they started rehearsal? He had no idea. 

Or rather, he had a pretty clear idea of how much he truly didn’t want to do this, and understood his actions perfectly. 

“Hey, Deaky, are you alright mate?” Said Roger’s voice from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts abruptly. He turned around to see his band mate, his friend, crouching down next to one of his drums, adjusting it. 

John just nodded and tried his best to smile.

Roger looked at him with suspicion, standing up and coming closer to him “you have been looking a bit peaky lately and... well... not that I’ve been paying attention or anything… but you are a little more quiet than usual?”

His tone dragged in the end, which only accentuated the frown on his features. He looked concerned, or as concerned as Deaky had ever seen him about something. His hands were balled at his sides, like he was restraining himself from action. Which action though, John had no clue.

This sudden closeness to Roger and his worry only made Deaky’s insides churn even harder than they already were in the first place. His uneven heartbeat took a few missteps and he felt himself lacking air, trying to breathe deeply in front of his friend without it being too obvious that his heart was failing him at the moment.

He must have shown something though, as Roger’s hands went to his shoulders the next moment, his pretty eyes fixed on Deaky’s own. When he spoke his voice was death serious, again, highly unusual for the drummer “John, what’s wrong?”

“Stop the chatter darlings, it’s time to play, chop chop” Freddie said, entering the room and clapping his hands together loudly. 

Deaky had never been more grateful for his friend’s bossiness than at that moment, since Roger, knowing fully well the hell that awaited him if he opposed their lead singer, let go of his shoulders and went back to his place behind the drums, grabbing his sticks and marking the rhythm for them to start.

John could feel his eyes bore into him the whole time they practiced. He tried hard to ignore him, and to keep playing decently at the same time his heart demanded rest, but it was useless. Every time he so much as turned a little to his right he could see the worry etched into the drummer’s eyes and he messed up his part.

He couldn’t breath again, the room going in and out of focus, his heartbeat struggling to keep up with what he was doing until finally Brian stopped playing in the middle of the song they were rehearsing and turned to face him, hands in the air, “Deaks what the hell!”

He heard Roger stop in the distance and he could feel himself stop playing, but it was all in slow motion. He opened his mouth to answer, but no sounds came out. The last thing he saw was Freddie, watching him with alarm, coming at him.

+++++++++++

His body felt heavy, all the way up to his eyelids. He could hear voices in the distance, voices he knew, voices he dared say he loved, but couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. They sounded frightened, panicked even.

He tried to open his eyes but realized he couldn’t. Maybe if he moved his hand, the voices would stop calling his name. Because that was what they were saying, he realized now, his name.

He gave it his best effort but his arm felt like lead. He vaguely realized that he could at least breathe better now, and that the constant constriction in his chest, the one he was almost getting used to, had eased a little.

The voices came slowly more into focus and the strangled voice of Brian said “we should call an ambulance, he has been out cold for more than 5 minutes, we need to do something”.

And that was his queue. Either he opened his eyes right now or he was going to be in a very large amount of trouble.

Exerting all his will, he opened his eyes. 

The first thing he saw were Roger’s eyes, as pretty as ever, because they were open wide, irises full blown. His slow brain wondered for a bit why was he calling Roger’s eyes pretty all the time but it didn’t matter, for a hand appeared in his line of sight and turned his attention over to his owner. Freddie. 

He looked pretty scared too but his voice didn’t waver when he said “John. John, can you hear me?”

Deaky’s voice sounded weak even to him when he said “yes, Freddie, I…”

And then it all dawned on him. He had passed out, in the middle of rehearsal. He had come in today, early, in order to quit the band. Because he had no intention, none whatsoever, of telling any of the members of Queen that he had had a heart condition since childhood, which had recently started acting up, and that he was facing open heart surgery not two weeks from now. 

They needed a new bassist, because he wasn’t sure he was going to make it through said surgery. His doctors weren’t very optimistic about it all. 

Otherwise he might just have lied to them about missing practice for a few weeks and come back. He loved the band, loved playing the bass with talented musicians, loved having fun with them, knew that Queen was going somewhere. And, if he was being honest with myself, he had grown close to Brian and Freddie... and Roger. Particularly Roger. Despite his best efforts. 

He didn’t want to leave them, didn’t want to leave his easy college life and having projects and playing gigs and drinking with the guys and what the future might hold for them…but he had no choice really. 

John didn’t want a pity party from anyone, and so he had decided he was going to spare his mates the trouble and simply quit the band in the name of his studies and then cut them all off. 

If they figured out he had died after the fact, well... that was out of his hands. 

Unfortunately, his cover was very much blown now. 

Damn it, his doctors had warned him that as weeks went by his heart would get weaker and weaker, but he had never thought that playing a simple song would ever make him pass out like a princess. 

Well, now he knew.

And exactly because of that he had to be extra careful now, not to give away anything else about his condition to his friends. He had tell them something believable, soon, and get the hell out of there, because the silence stretched on and he could see Brian hesitating to call the ambulance he had mentioned earlier out of the corner of his eye.

He took a deep breath and tried to get into a sitting position. Roger’s hands were in his back the moment he went upright, supporting him from behind. Huh, apparently his head had been laying in the drummer’s lap.

Trying harder, he stood up, feeling his heart beat out of his chest. Yeah, he needed to get out quick, before anything else he didn’t expect happened. As soon as his legs took on his full weight though he wobbled slightly, and the rest of the three members of Queen were supporting him the next moment, slowly taking him to the couch in the corner of the room.

The silence that continued was eerie, and he could feel their gazes on him, despite the fact he was making an effort not to look at them in anyway. 

Finally, it was Freddie who broke the quiet they all seemed to have fallen into. 

“Will you tell us what is going on John? You look white as paper and your swooning, as much as I like drama, isn’t funny at all.”

Deaky put his head in hands, rattling his brain, but couldn’t come up with something more creative than “I’m sorry guys. I haven’t been sleeping very well or eating much, because of that electronics project I told you about the other day. I probably just passed out from exhaustion”. 

He kept his eyes shut, trying very hard not to see the reaction of his band mates and wishing with all of his heart that they might believe him. 

He couldn’t stay that way very long, because the next thing he heard was Roger’s voice, anger coloring every syllable as he said “That’s a load of bollocks! You were out for more than 5 minutes, you couldn’t wake up! I could see it! You have been acting weird for weeks now! Messing up your parts, which had never happened before! You are fucking brilliant bassist and from one month to the other you start making amateur mistakes?! Not to mention you have gotten suspiciously paler as weeks go by. Even before you told us about your dumb electronics project. There is something way more serious going on here and you are not telling us!”

Deaky opened his eyes to see Brian shaking his head slightly at Roger, clearly in a calming gesture. He didn’t take it well though. 

“What?! So I’m the only one who is going to say what we all have been thinking for the past month?! That Deaky is acting weird? That we are all worried about him? Well, screw me then.”

“Roger!”

“I’m quitting the bad!” John yelled loudly, cutting Brian mid sentence “That’s why I’ve been acting weird, that’s what I couldn’t tell you” He buried his face in his hands again, so that when he spoke his voice came out muffled “I need more time for my dumb electronics projects. My grades are suffering since I joined the band and I can’t allow that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I can’t stay here”.

Silence again and this time it wasn’t eerie but stunned. 

It only lasted 2 seconds though since Roger just uttered a quiet “Fucking lies” and stormed out, trashing the door behind him. 

Brian went after him, but not before he set a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, making him open his eyes and face him “I’m sure you have your reasons for leaving the band Deaky. I’m not saying that you are lying, but your argument is not very convincing. I go to the same campus as you mate, I know you are top of your class. We are worried about you, but I’m sure you know that we are, the three of us, there for you if you need anything…we will miss you though. You are a terrific bassist. A terrific friend”. He patted John’s back a few times, and then he left, leaving him alone with Freddie. 

Freddie sighted and lowered his head between his shoulders. Deaky looked at him closely. The singer had always been warm towards him, kind, gentle even. He looked at him like he was innocent and precious, like he needed protection. But not in a patronizing way. Because if there was something John had liked from Freddie from the beginning was that he was always himself, always honest, always straightforward. If he looked after John was because he genuinely cared about him. No agendas, no hidden motives. 

Deaky had always been fond of Freddie, and had considered him a friend from day one. 

“You know when I knew we were just going to be great? As a band, Deaky? When you joined us. That first time we played, the fours of us, together, and Brian gave me that long lecture about messing up the lyrics to _Keep Yourself Alive?_ Then and there I knew, we had something special. We all did. Not just me. I knew I was special all along darling”, he laughed softly, keeping his head down for a moment before turning to look at him. 

Deaky had never been good with words. He had always been the quiet one, the one that showed what he felt and thought through his actions. And right there and then, he simply didn’t know what to say to Freddie. Because he agreed with him, that was exactly when he had known too, that they were going places. His heart, the metaphorical one, not the real one, grew tree sizes smaller. This whole business with his health was costing him so much. It was costing him his life, literally and figuratively.  It was costing him Queen. 

So he said the only thing that came to mind, even if it felt infinitely inadequate at the moment “I’m sorry Fred. I really am. You have no idea how much. But I just can’t… stay with you. Trust me.” He kept eye contact with him until Freddie himself cut it, standing up. 

“We trust you Deaky, but both Roger and Brian are right. There is something here that you are not telling us. And I do agree with our temperamental drummer that it has something to do with that paleness of yours, which is certainly not suitable to your complexion darling. But we can’t make you tell us the truth any more than we can make you stay. This is your decision.” He extended a hand towards John, who took it hesitantly, pulling himself to a standing position with his help. Thanks to all the Gods out there, his legs could handle his weight just fine this time around. Still, he took deep breaths as he started walking towards his bass, to put it away. 

Freddie stayed close besides him all through the time it took him to unplug his bass and put it into his case, not crowding him but staying a little nearer than what was strictly normal. When he was done, the instruments of his band mates still laying around the room and making him regret what he was doing, he turned to his friend, who was giving him a steady look.

For a moment, a tiny moment, John considered telling him the truth. What would happen, if he told him the truth? Would his friends really have pity for him? Would they get worried? Would they help him? He knew he needed help, but didn’t want it. He was determined to get through this with his head held high, avoiding all possible indignity. He didn’t know what he was facing, heck, he didn’t have a clue. And he was scared. Ohh so scared. 

But Freddie kept looking straight into his eyes and in them, Deaky saw what he thought of as respect. Mixed with worry yeah, but the first part was the important one for him. And no. He wasn’t willing, didn’t want to, change the image his friends, his band mates, had of him. 

If he was going to die, at least when he would do so Queen would remember him as he was right now. A decent bassist, a good friend, if a little stoic but he was sure they would remember him with fondness. 

Freddie extended a hand towards him and John, again, hesitantly took it. Then the singer pulled him to his side and started walking with him towards the exit “Now, I’m gonna take you home because I am sure Roger will positively assassinate me if I don’’t make sure you get home safe.”

Panic rose in his throat. What if he passed out again while going back with Freddie? What if he hyperventilated? He could cover up one fainting but two? He started squirming, trying to free his hand out of the singer’s strong grip but it wouldn’t give. So he tried reasoning with him “No Fred. Thank you but I can get home on my own. You really don’t have to, I’m fine, really...”

“Nonsense! And again, I’m not doing this for you darling. Roger will kill me if I don’t make sure you are in one piece. I am doing this as self preservation, it’s all”. 

And with that, Freddie tugged him harder, forcing him to follow him. 

John spared one last quick glance at the space in which he had laughed so hard he had cried a couple of times, where he had wrote songs and shared meals, where the instruments of who he realized now might have been the most important people in his life still lay astray, and then he was basically pushed out by Freddie, his arm around his shoulders, into the street. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, my darlings, I am placing Deaky and Brian in the same school and campus, for the sake of the story only. I know this would never happen in real life. 
> 
> Also, all the medical terms are somewhat researched but I am sure I messed up at a point. So they are basically, again, just for dramatic purposes. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Roger will kill me if I don’t make sure you are in one piece._

The phrase kept going round and round on Deaky’s head, despite his efforts to push it away. He didn’t know why this particular sentence had stuck to his brain and why it kept coming back to him. When he ate. When he read. When he showered. When he breathed. 

His life was a mess now, that was for certain. Maybe that had to do with it. 

Not two days after quitting the band, he had had to go to his Uni to postpone the semester of school he was currently in, praying to whomever would listen to please keep him from running into Brian. He had passed out a couple of times after the episode on rehearsal, and with his surgery around the corner anyways, his doctors had advised him to take as much time as he could to rest, and avoid further exertion, hence, dropping out of college.

Or postponing it.

To go back to in case he survived. 

Thankfully though, he hadn’t seen the curly set of hair anywhere. So he had gone in and out of the campus easily enough. A weight constantly on his chest. Literally and figuratively.

If having to quit the band and college wasn’t bad enough, he had had to move back into his mother’s house so she could “take care of him”. He loved his mother, he really did. They had a far better and closer relationship than any other son and parent he knew, but he had grown accustomed to being independent and free to do as he saw fit all the time and now, well let’s say that he couldn’t go to the bathroom without his mother getting into his business.

So yeah, his life was a disaster.

Reading, he reminded himself, he had been reading. About thermodynamics. Not thinking about Roger, not thinking about his life, not thinking about...

The phone rang in that precise moment.

He stood up carefully to pick it up, not wanting to pass out yet again. By the time he got to the phone, it had been ringing for quite a while. 

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you Deaky?”

It was Roger’s voice. And he sounded angry. John’s mouth went dry. His brain went blank. Where had Roger gotten his mother’s number? Why was he calling him now, of all moments, after he had spent the entire morning thinking of him? 

“I know you are there Deaky, say something” 

“I...mmm.... where did you get this number?”

“From your campus’ office. It’s your emergency contact number, you twat. Bri stole it for us when we went to your flat and your flatmates said you had gone back to live with your mom. After you dropped out of college. What the hell Deaky?! What is going on?!”

John had no good answer for that that wasn’t the truth. He considered hanging up but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. His hand wouldn’t give. The silence stretch on. 

Then Roger’s voice came back, softer this time “We are just worried about you. You are acting completely mental mate. Look, tell us where your mother lives. Where we can go see you.”

Deaky couldn’t answer.

“If you don’t tell us we’ll find out anyways. Apparently Brian is very good at getting intel when properly motivated and Freddie is Freddie. You know we will find you. Just please, please, make it easier for us”.

“What if I don’t want you to find me? What if I don’t want to see you? Have you considered that?” His stupid voice wavered and he knew Roger wouldn’t believe him. There was a sigh on the other side of the line and sounds of movement, like the drummer was passing the phone around.

Freddie’s voice came through the speaker next “Darling, please, don’t make this any more difficult for any of us. It’s clear you are not alright. We just want to help. We love you. Let us help.”

They loved him. They... loved him. Freddie spoke so easily of love, always. Heck he called everyone dear and darling. The guy was the most affectionate person John had ever met and that is why he was always so effective in getting him to lower his defenses.

Not that he had defenses. Not per se. He was just careful with people. Careful around people. Careful about his feelings towards other people. Because if he had learned something about people in his short lifetime was that they were always selfish. They always only responded to what they wanted. What they needed. And that didn´t make them bad, just human. They didn’t do it on purpose, they just didn’t know any better. Weren’t taught any better. 

The flaw in the system of human relationships, to John´s humble opinion, was that everyone just wanted to be loved, but almost no one was willing to love first. Sometimes, most times, humans weren´t even able to open their heart and love themselves. How could another person stand a chance?

He didn’t remember when he had come up with this theory, but he had been observing people around him for most of his life, and this was what he kept on seeing, over and over again. 

So defenses, not so much. Theories about human behavior and a healthy sense of self preservation, yes. 

But here were his band mates, who to his understanding could have gone the other way and looked for another bassist the moment he quit Queen, who to his understanding didn’t have any personal investment on him other than friendship, who he had to admit he had grown close to, that he… maybe…maybe loved. And they were asking to help him...saying they cared for him… well Roger and Freddie because…

The phone shuffled again and Brian’s voice, which sounded strained, reached his ears “Deaky mate, we are really concerned here, and like Roger said, if you don’t tell us where you are we will simply look around for you. And we will find you,I assure you, just like we found out you quit school and moved in with your mom. Now, will you please tell us where you are. I swear Roger will go knocking to each house in this God forsaken city if you don’t tell us soon”.

When John failed to answer yet again Brian’s voice became a little more desperate, but still steady enough for Deaky to believe him “We care for you mate. Please, let us at least talk to you. Face to face. See you… something”.

Brian did sound at the end of his rope. 

And maybe that did it, maybe that was what broke Deaky’s resolve. That detail of hearing Brian May, guitarist extraordinaire, one of the most level headed, sane people John had ever met, loose his cool for a just a moment. Or maybe it had been Freddie’s warmth or the anger on Roger’s voice, or the combination of it all. 

He would never know what pushed him to throw away everything he had believed in until then, everything he had promised himself when he first got sick regarding his band mates, but it didn’t matter. Because if he was being honest, the reality was, he hadn’t seen his friends in a week and he… missed them. He was having a really bad time and wanted to see them. He wanted to laugh with them, hug them.

So much for sparing his mates the trouble and not wanting a pity party.  So much for dying with their respect. 

He was bending here, more so than ever, but a voice in the back of his brain whispered to him, over and over again, that maybe if he had them, maybe if he had Brian and Freddie and Roger with him, being sick would be a little more bearable.

Because so far, it sucked more than anything ever. Ever.

One month facing death, one week alone facing death, and everything he thought he was and wanted and knew was being shattered. 

Well, that was mortality for you.

“131 Graham Road”

“Thank you Deaky, Thank you! We’ll be there shortly”

The line went death.

Sighting, John hung up the phone and slowly went into his bedroom to change out of his unofficial uniform as of late: his pajamas. He might as well try to look normal, if the whole of Queen was going to barge into his childhood home and he was going to have to explain to them that he was probably going to die in heart surgery next week. 

What exactly was he going to tell them?!

+++++++++++++++++++

It took Roger, Brian and Freddie the best part of an hour to reach John’s Mother’s house. They had probably been on his and Brian’s campus, mused Deaky, as he went to the front door to answer the loud knocking that was currently going on, accompanied by Roger’s voice yelling “We know you are in there, don’t you try to leave us here hanging Deacon”.

The second John opened the door though, Roger’s voice went death. His eyes went wide and he appraised him like he had never seen him before. That bad huh? He guessed he had gotten paler and skinnier since they last saw each other, but he hoped the difference wouldn’t be that noticeable. It clearly was though, for the expression on his band mates’ faces. So combing his hair had made no difference then. What a waste of energy. 

“I wasn’t trying to leave you guys hanging, I just took a little longer to get to the door, that’s all.” 

He moved aside to let his friends in. Lucky for him, it was the middle of the day and his mother wouldn’t be home till late afternoon, when she got out of work. They had time to discuss… whatever they were going to discuss, which he was regretting more with each passing moment. 

The next thing he knew though, he had Roger draped all over him, his arms and hands in his back. The drummer whispered into his neck “Ohh Deaky…” and a shiver went down his spine. He felt his heart accelerate, and removed himself from the hug, taking two steps back from the loose embrace, before his heart betrayed him again. 

Though he had to admit, even if he didn’t want to, that that hug had breathed oxygen into his lungs.

He smiled, honestly for the first time in what felt like forever, to Roger as he entered his living room, taking a seat in the wide coach opposite the television. Freddie gave him a kiss on the cheek as he went in and Brian just squeezed his shoulder, watching him with careful eyes. 

Once they were all sitting and John had offered them something to drink (which they all said no to), Brian began speaking, ever the diplomat, each word coming out of his mouth sounding like it had been rehearsed. 

“Deaky mate. First of all, we just want you to know that, as pushy as we might seem for what we just did, we don’t want to force you to say anything to us that you are not comfortable with. We all just wanted to tell you, face to face, on the flesh, that we are here for you. For whatever you need. That we are not letting you quit the band, no matter what you said last practice. And that if you don’t want to tell us anything, that is okay, but please don’t cut us out. We are your friends, not just your band mates, yes?”

“But do tell us what is happening Deaky. No offense mate but you look sick. Outright sick and this disappearing act you keep pulling on us is everything but funny. Or necessary. Or fair. We deserve to know what’s going on, you are our friend!” Roger’s voice went a little higher at the end, and next to him, Freddie winced. 

“Roger, what did we tell you about interrupting Brian?” He said after a pause, hitting the back of the drummer’s head lightly.

Roger flinched at the contact and rubbed his hand over the spot Freddie had hit him in, but he continued talking “But look at him Fred, he is clearly sick. He scared the living shit out of us by quitting college and going missing from one day to the other. Are you really gonna take it that lightly now? I saw you Mercury, you were as freaked out as we were when we found out he had…”

“There really is no need to fight you guys. I will tell you what is going on, okay?” interrupted Deaky, just to shut Roger up and stop the clearly practiced scene he was witnessing. It pained him a little to know his best friends were treating him with pins and needles but he guessed he had earned it. 

Apparently, he had scared them.

A little part of his heart warmed at the though though. The selfish, immature part. That this people had cared for him enough that they had freaked out when he had cut them out. 

He could feel his pride waver and waver more.  Become smaller and smaller. It was still there, in his mind, but there was another thing taking it’s place now which he didn’t know how to name, something he couldn’t identify.

He took a deep breath. He really didn’t know how to say this. So he figured a little story mixed with a simple approach would do the trick. He hoped.

He swallowed, buying for time.

“Do you remember that night we drank way too many beers and I told you about how I had spent the first month of my life in the hospital?” 

Brian and Freddie nodded, while Roger kept silent, looking so intently at him that John thought the gaze might break him into flames at any minute.

“Well, I never told you why I spent that month in the hospital... right?” He lowered his head, if only to avoid Roger’s intense eyes, and started to play with the hem of his shirt nervously “I... My heart is malformed. My tricuspid valve is blocked from birth and apparently you can live like that, like I did, for long periods of time, if you are born with it, because your body gets used to it. But only if there is enough blood passing through the blockage, which has been my case so far, but...”

And here it was. The moment of truth, the moment he had been dreading. The moment he had said would never come but that now was happening right in front of him and it felt unstoppable, unavoidable. He cursed his weakness, his need for his friends, his vulnerability in his sickness, the whole situation.

How had his life come to this? 

He straightened his head, to look at his band, all who were already staring at him in the first place and said “But... but now apparently there is not enough blood passing through because the obstruction got worse the older I got so... I need surgery. Open heart surgery. Soon “.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you wanted hurt/comfort? So you wanted angst? Here you have it my dear friends. 
> 
> It´s important to mention though, that we have to think about heart surgery as it was in the 70s in this fic. Which means that it was a very high risk procedure, with a success rate of only 40%. 
> 
> Taking that into account, let the drama begin.

“What do you mean soon?!”

“What?!”

“And the surgery will fix it?”

Three different sets of questions came Deaky’s way full force after his revelation, and for a moment he didn’t know who had said what. It took him a moment of looking at his friends though, and thinking about it a little, to know who had uttered each inquiry.

It was clear the “What?!” had come from Freddie, who was currently looking at him like he had grown a third head.

It was also pretty obvious that Brian had said “And the surgery will fix it?”, since Deaky knew he was the most analytical of them all and would center his reaction into finding a solution to the situation at hand.

The easiest to guess, though, was Roger’s “what do you mean soon?!” The drummer was always so fully into the present, so fully into what came next, into reacting and emotion, that it was relatively simple to see how he would focus on how close this disaster was to them. 

John shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and sighted. He didn’t feel like answering any of the questions, but he had already told them the most difficult part. Withholding any further details from them now was pointless. Whether he liked it or not. 

They were into the problem now, thanks to his weakness and their insistence. 

So he answered them all as best he could, with the truth.

“They don’t know if it will fix it, the doctors... well they are not very optimistic. About anything really. Not even of my chances of making it through the procedure. They have to try though. It’s what they do” he shrugged. When no one said anything else he continued, looking at the ceiling to avoid the hot tears that were forming in his eyes from spilling “and what do I mean soon Rog? I mean next week soon. I mean next Friday soon. I have to get admitted into the hospital on Wednesday to have them run some tests and things but the surgery is programmed for Friday”. 

He swallowed. 

He couldn’t keep his tears in any more so he lowered his head and quickly swiped at his eyes, cleaning them. He knew they would be red anyways and his friends would notice it but heck, he was allowed this little dignity, wasn’t he?

He was wondering for the millionth time that day what was happening to him that he was doing all these things he would never normally do when he felt a dip in the loveseat next to him and a pair arms circled him. He recognized the scent of cologne instantly: it was Roger.

Then another pair of arms enveloped them: Freddie’s. Finally, Brian surrounded them three with his long, lanky limbs.

And that was simply too much for John. 

Before he knew what was happening, he was sobbing into Roger’s shirt, uncontrollably. The part of his brain that remained a little sane couldn’t come to terms with the fact that all these tears where coming from him. 

It wasn’t like he had been wanting to cry and hadn’t done it. 

He hadn’t wanted to cry, not once, since the doctors told him of his situation. Even his mother had asked him about it but he simply answered that he didn’t feel like wallowing.

But now there he was, grabbing fistfuls of Roger’s shirt like they were his lifeline, staining the heavily printed fabric with his snot. He would have to send that to the dry cleaners for him, that was for sure.

He felt a hand pat his hair tenderly but didn’t known to whom it belong to. 

John didn’t know how long they were like that. All enclosed together,  in what could only be described as a group hug, but it could have been years. To be honest, he didn’t care.

Eventually he calmed down enough that he released Roger’s shirt. The arms around him started disappearing and he found he missed them terribly the moment they left him. 

He hiccuped a bit, whipping heavily at his eyes. A glass of water found his lips and he drank thankfully.

“You weren’t going to tell us” said Roger into the silence of the room. It was a plain statement, but the tone of utter betrayal that infused it made Deaky turn to look at him. 

The drummer was still sitting besides him, on the loveseat, sporting such a look of pain that John almost flinched at it. He looked like he had physically received a punch. Or like if someone had kicked his puppy. 

John’s voice was wobbly when he answered “what was the point? You guys would have and will find another bassist that I’m sure will do better than me and you would have moved on without all this drama”.

Roger lowered his head into his hand and whispered “please don’t say things like that John”.

“Yeah darling. You think we only care about you because you are our bassist? You really think we would rather have moved on without knowing, without this so called drama?”

“Because if that is the case then we have been terrible friends to you Deaky” said Brian “if that is the case then we failed you as friends”. 

“Now, don’t you say that. You have been awesome friends to me guys. That is why I took so long to quit the band. I have known about this for some time now, like you already guessed, but I couldn’t leave you, as hard as I tried. I’m sorry it took me so long though, maybe if I hadn’t I would have been able to spare you all of this. It was my plan to spare you all of this”.

“Please Deaky, stop talking” Roger said, lowering his head as in defeat and looking so distressed that John actually stopped what he was about to say.

Suddenly, Brian stood up from where he was sitting in the coach and started pacing the small living room space, looking like a caged animal while he spoke “Okay so, we need to do something. We need to help. We need a plan!” He pointed at John “From now on, you are never alone. Either Roger or Freddie or me will be with you at all times. We will take turns. To go to college and tend to the store, and well... on Wednesday through Friday the stall can close and we’ll skip lectures and we’ll figure it out from there”. 

He stopped in the middle of the room, looking frantic and searching for approval in Roger’s and Freddie’s faces, who both nodded.

“Our stall could easily close from Monday to Sunday and no one would care much other than hour bank accounts, let’s be honest darlings. Or I could look after it and skip school so Roger can stay with Deaky as long as he wants.”

Freddie gave the drummer a knowing look, but he just grunted and put his head in his hands, covering his eyes with his fingers and rubbing at them.

What was going on here? Deaky’s brain was still foggy from so much crying, or so he guessed, because he couldn’t quite understand what was happening. From the band stating they would babysit him to Freddie’s weird comment about Roger, there was a big exclamation point to this whole situation and he had to stop it.

“Guys! No! You do know I have a family right? They will take care of me. You don’t have to disrupt your lives. I mean, I guess you could come and see me at the hospital. Maybe to say goodbye. But otherwise...” he shrugged. 

“You won’t die!” Screamed Roger abruptly and Deaky swore his heart skipped a beat at how much that startled him. 

It took him a minute to gather his wits but after a second he answered, matter of factly “I know it’s hard Rog, but we need to face the facts. I know it’s not pleasant but...”

“Ohh why are you like this Deaky? Stop that! This is not unpleasant, it’s absolutely terrifying. Why do you keep saying things like ‘you don’t have to disrupt your lives’ or ‘my family will take care of me’? We are your fucking family too god damn it! Whether you like it or accept it or see it or whatever. Haven’t our actions spoken loud enough for you? We want to be there for you, and you will let us. Ohh you so will because you will face the full force of my wrath if you don’t. I will kick your ass. No matter how sick you are. Ohh and also, you won’t die. Because if there is a chance, however small, that you will make it, I command you to grab it by balls and make it yours. You won’t die because you will fight. You won’t give up. I won’t let you.”

“We won’t let you” corrected Freddie. 

“We won’t” finished Brian.

Deaky felt like crying again and he wasn’t sure if it was because of Roger’s words, which somehow managed to get into his rib cage and into his heart, sick as it was but still alive, or because of the intensity of the way he had said what he had, or because both Brian and Freddie had confirmed the message. 

He felt stunned and overwhelmed. And vulnerable, so vulnerable. He wasn’t used to feeling like this, he wasn’t used to feeling... his heart. Which he could feel now, full of affection for this dumb, self sacrificing, stubborn idiots. 

The voice on the back of his head, the one that kept telling him that everything would be better if the band was with him through this, the one that was selfish and immature muttered carefully into his consciousness “they called you family”. And then kept repeating it over and over and over again. 

He was brought back to the present by a hand wrapping around his own. Roger’s again. He looked into his eyes. His pretty, clear blue eyes. They were so blue, like a midsummer sky. His mouth smiled without his consent and the drummer smiled back at him and God, Deaky didn’t feel alone for the first time in forever. Maybe in all of his life. 

His heart skipped an extra beat, yet again, but he decided to ignore it. Whatever weird feelings he was apparently harboring for Roger, whatever they were, he had no time for them right now. Or maybe never. 

Right now, he had to say something to his family. 

His pride screamed as it died in the distance. 

“Thank you guys... I don’t know what to say”.

“Say you will let us help you. Promise us you will let us be with you. Promise us you will fight” said Brian, looking at him sternly.

Could he really promise that? That he was going to fight? Because after all that had gone down today he was sure as hell not gonna cut his friends out. But fight to stay alive? That was another matter altogether. 

He hadn’t realized it until Roger mentioned it but apparently he had given up the moment his doctors had given him his diagnosis and he hadn’t questioned, not for one minute, that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance at making it out of surgery alive.

He had taken the odds, gone with the highest percentage of possibility and assumed it to be the truth. 

Was he really that cold and clinical?  That he had applied simple logic to the chance he was going to die and taken it as a certainty?

Well, if that was the case, he was certainly fucked. More so than he thought possible. He knew all humans had issues but to see your death with that level of detachment was seriously screwed up. 

But then again he had sobbed not 5 minutes ago into Roger’s shirt, so maybe there was a part of him that wasn’t so disconnected from his feelings after all. 

And that part clearly liked Roger. And Freddie and Brian too, of course.

Could he fight?

Maybe if he tried, if he really attempted to actively stay alive he would. And possibly, if he got to keep his life, he would be able to explore that tiny piece of him, the one that cared for this humans in front of him, that part that cried and smiled without his permission and well…he had called it weakness before, but it was really… it was his heart. Maybe if he survived he would get to feel his heart.

He turned his gaze down, to look at his hand enveloped in Roger’s. And then he moved his head to look at Freddie, who was smiling at him, of all things, and then at Brian, who had perched himself on the arm of the coach he had once claimed as _Deakyland_ when he as six, looking so serious yet so gentle. And finally at Roger. 

Roger. Roger. Roger. 

With that smile, that clearly made him crazy. 

And then he knew he could fight. 

“I promise” he answered then, his voice a whisper but still breaking at the end. 

A relieved sigh passed through the room. 

“You stubborn dork. You have no idea what you just put us though do you? Since you quit the band? I cannot believe you are so hardheaded. Now if you apply that same unyielding relentlessness to your recovery, I’m sure you will be just fine in the end” said Freddie, reclining his back into _Deakyland_ and stretching his arms over his head, pushing his shoulders around like a cat would before it settles to sleep. 

Deaky couldn’t help but laugh a little, despite the situation, “I’ll give it my best old determined effort and hope you are right Fred”.

“Ohh I know I’m right. I always am. And this won’t be any different darling” The singer winked at him and Roger snorted. 

“Okay” Brian clasped his hands together, always so practical and oriented towards the goal that it made John smile a little, “now that it has been set in stone” he turned to glare at the bassist “that we will help Deaky, how will we do this?”

“So the plan to babysit me is real? Guys really, you don’t have to do this. You can come see me everyday but I am sure it is quite unnecessary to have someone with me at all times. I was doing just fine before you guys arrived” he settled against the cushions of the loveseat in a similar pose to Freddie’s, but without disentangling his hand from Roger’s, who didn’t seem eager to let go of him either. 

Said drummer arched an eyebrow as he answered “Ohh really, Mr. I take forever to reach everywhere?” 

“Well I have to be careful!”

“Because you pass out if you walk too much or too fast right?” The smugness in Roger’s tone sent a warning all the way to Deaky’s memory. And then he remembered that the man was indeed studying Biology and if someone had an idea of what was happening to his heart, it was him. It was all pretty obvious but still, Roger probably had more of a clue than any of them.

Bollocks.

“Damn your pretty face. For a moment there, I forgot that you are trying to become a biologist and know something about this shit”.

“Careful there Deacon, you are giving yourself too much away mate” said Freddie, looking at him with the same discerning gaze that he had given Roger just a little while ago, when he had talked about minding the stall on his own so the drummer could be with him as much as he wanted.

“What are you talking about Freddie?” Answered Deaky, shaking his head slightly in open question and widening his eyes, making sure he looked confused at Freddie’s statement instead of taken aback by the fact that the singer clearly knew there was something up with his feelings towards Roger. 

“Can we please go back to the fact that I’m smart and know biology and I am probably the most qualified of all of us to look after Deaky?” asked Roger, raising his voice just a little to get the full attention off his band mates. 

“Qualified my ass” muttered Brian.

“Fuck you Bri, I know a shit ton more than you”.

Brian glared at Roger, who glared back. They looked at each other for a moment, the drummer full of confidence and the guitarist full annoyance. Finally, the latter sighted “Whatever helps you sleep at night mate. Anyways, like the _biologist_ here just pointed out, you do need someone to help you around Deaky. So you don’t over exert yourself. Maybe it is too much of a precaution but, let’s not take any chances”.

“My mom takes care of me guys”.

“And where is she now?”

“Working. She should come back…” he glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and realized it had only been an hour since his friends had come by. It felt like they had been arguing for the entire day “in around 3 hours”. 

“And you were going to stay by yourself those 3 hours?” Asked Freddie, skeptical. 

“I don’t need a babysitter”.

“You clearly haven’t seen yourself in a mirror lately dear”.

Brian made a face at Freddie, waving his hands in the air in placating manner “That is not important Fred. What does matter is that” he turned to face Deaky “you do need help.”

“And you promised you will let us help you darling. So stand down now you lovely, stubborn idiot. I’ll take first watch, today and leave before your mother comes back, promise. So you don’t have to give any explanations about our existence just yet. But let me tell you, if you haven’t told her about us, you better start thinking about how you are going to do it, cause like we already said, we plan to be at the hospital. We’ll spare you the trouble for now though. Tomorrow morning I’ll take the shop so Roger can come around while Brian goes to classes and doesn’t die of nerd stress and in the afternoon Brian can take watch” directed Freddie, full of whatever authority gave him being Freddie fucking Mercury. 

“That works” shrugged Brian “for tomorrow, and then we will figure out the next day and the next”.

“Hey no!” Protested Roger “Brain doesn’t have to come tomorrow. I can be with Deaky for the whole day. What happened to me being the most qualified person to look after him? And to Freddie taking the stall so I can be with him as much as I want? What the hell Fred? You offered.”

John was sure he had never seen anyone’s eyebrows go as high as Freddie’s at that moment. “I was just bargaining for a reaction from you dear, which I got, thank you very much.” 

Roger frowned and opened his mouth to answer, but before he got to say anything Brian interrupted him “I think it’s better if we all rotate. That way we all get time to handle whatever we need to handle so that come Wednesday, we can be fully present and not worrying about homework not delivered or bills not paid. And also, that way we all get to spend some time with Deaky. It’s the practical way mate”.

“I don’t have anything to handle” muttered Roger.

“You still go to school Rog. Weren’t you just going on about how you are a biologist and shit? Your teachers are probably already used to not seeing you in class, but I’m sure you have something to do before Wednesday to avoid failing everything”.

“I hate you Brian”.

“The feeling is mutual”.

“Guys, guys” interrupted Deaky “I’m not a puppy you know? Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room. I’m still right here and I really don’t need…”

“Shut up!” chanted Brian, Roger and Freddie in unison. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are Freddie and Brian up to? Stay tunned.
> 
> Also, my Brian is a huge, responsible nerd and I love that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that all the boys know about Deaky's condition, we are getting chapters in their different perspectives. Today, we have Roger. 
> 
> Hold on to your t-shirts friends, the next chapters are nothing but angst.

“I really do hate you Brian”.

They were just outside of Deaky’s Mother’s house and were heading towards the van, since Roger was giving Brian a ride home because the man “had to study” and he had to go “mind the stall”.

Stupid studying. Stupid Brian. Stupid shop that gave him and Freddie the ability to feed themselves.

He had done his best to stay with Deaky for just a little longer, but Freddie had unceremoniously pushed them out after they had agreed on the next day’s schedule to take care of John and Brian had announced he had an exam the following day.

He didn’t understand what Freddie was playing at, saying he would do what was needed for him to stay with Deaky and then backtracking like he had, and likewise, he didn’t understand why Brian felt they all needed time to sort their lives before Wednesday came and effectively made him loose his mind.

He did have school but if he had skipped it before for trivial reasons, well, he couldn’t even think about going now. He would rather flunk the semester than spend any minute of his day not knowing how Deaky was doing.

He also didn’t understand why he had let Brian and Freddie decide the schedule on their own without putting up more resistance, but something in the back of his mind told him he hadn’t wanted to be THAT obvious.

That obvious about what though?

Just as he reached the driver’s door of his van he turned to look at what he knew was John’s childhood home.

It was strange to think about that house as the place where Deaky had grown up. As hard as Roger had tried to not to pay attention to the details of its inside, and only focus on what was happening to John, he hadn’t been able to resist spying from the corner of his eye the baby pictures of his bassist, and a couple from a mystery man that he supposed was Deaky’s father, whom he hadn’t mentioned, not once, since he had known him.

A shiver went through him as he realized he had just thought of John _his bassist._ But he meant it as in the bassist of his band, right? Right?!

“Why? Because I didn’t let you spend all of tomorrow with him?” Answered Brian, who was already sitting in the passenger’s seat and was clearly waiting for him to stop staring at Deaky’s house and get into the damn car.

Roger turned to open the door and climb into the van but something stopped him. A pull inside his rib cage. Like if a lasso was placed around his heart, and said lasso lead straight into John’s hands. He suddenly felt that if he got too far away from this house, from Deaky, the rope would effectively split his most vital organ in half and he would be left bleeding out on the pavement. He knew biologically and logically that made no sense, but it was exactly how he felt.

Brian clearly sensed his uneasiness for he leaned into the driver’s seat and patted his hand, which he had left on the steering wheel of the vehicle as he was climbing in, saying “he is going to be fine Rog. Freddie will take good care of him”.

“Since when is Freddie a responsible person?”

“Since when are you any better?”

“I thought we already stablished that I am the biologist here and the one that should be looking after Deaky” defended Roger, but without any real bite to it. He sighted. He supposed he was being nonsensical.

With great effort, effort that felt physical, he finally placed his precious behind in his car’s seat and closed the door after him, starting the ignition.

They drove in silence for a while, both of them staring at the road in front of them, lost in though.

Finally, it was the guitarist that broke the reverie.

“Are you okay Rog?”

What a silly question to ask, mused Roger, as he shook his head emphatically and answered “how can I be? I mean I knew in my gut something bad was happening to Deaky but I never imagined it would be this serious, this big... this real. I can’t... I just can’t.... get a grip on it. He was just fine two months ago and now... he looked so fragile Bri.”

Brian sported a look of pain he supposed mirrored his own but his voice came out steady when he said “I know. So pale. It was... he almost didn’t look anything like himself”.

The guitarist turned his head down towards his lap and didn’t say anything else. He looked at a loss for words Roger could understand. He suddenly saw very clearly how this was affecting all of them. Selfish as he was he had only hated his band mates when they had separated him from Deaky and told him what to do, but now that he was seeing how it had affected Brian up close, he couldn’t hate him for it, not really.

He looked pale himself and like he didn’t know what to do. Which was strange for him since he was always practical man, down to earth guy, the responsible one of them all (if you didn’t count John), who knew how to talk to people and what to do in emergencies.

The smartest of them all.

He had already proven his skill in getting John to agree to be taken care of (though he figured he and Freddie had done their fair share of convincing too) and figuring out that the best way they could help Deaky was to watch him around the clock. A brilliant idea, where they could all contribute and actually make a difference for the man.

When he and Freddie had been paralyzed with fear and pain at the news of John’s situation, as well as his attitude towards all of it, Brian had actually taken it upon himself to do something to improve said situation.

That was the kind of man he was. Which made it all the more scary that right now he looked so lost.

He was cut out from his thoughts by the voice of the man he had been thinking about “You need to tell him Rog”. The drummer noted that his friend’s tone was a little too careful to be normal, and that it had a trace of desperation to it, but only a bit. As if he was trying to conceal it.

“Tell him what?” He answered plainly.

The same part of his brain that had screamed at him only minutes before that he couldn’t be THAT obvious stirred and perked up. His conscious self honestly didn’t know what the hell, but wanted to know what had made Brian’s voice sound so cautious.

He felt his friend’s intense gaze as he calculated, processed, measured and weighted him for a moment before speaking up again. “It’s okay Rog. I know. We know rather. Freddie and me. I mean it’s pretty obvious but clearly John is a bit thick with these things and hasn’t realized it yet. And that is why you have to tell him. It’s important that you tell him, because studies show that people who have reasons to live fight harder when faced with life and death situations and we can’t loose Deaky. We just can’t mate. I’m not sure we could take it”.

Roger turned to look at Brian for a brief moment and right now, just talking about it, he already looked recked. His heart wrenched horribly again, for the affliction he saw on his best friend’s face, but also because the thought of loosing Deaky crossed his mind too and....no, he couldn’t entertain it, not for a single minute, else he was sure he was going to come undone.

The whole point of Brian’s speech was lost on him though. What did he and Freddie know? What did he have to tell Deaky that would make him fight, that he hadn’t already? What was Brian going on about?

Feeling abruptly nervous, but keeping his eyes resolutely on the road, he answered “I honestly don’t know what you are talking about mate”.

Brian sighted, and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips for a moment before saying “We thought this might be the case” he turned to look at the ceiling and then back at his profile, clearly exasperated “I just hoped you wouldn’t be as dense, but apparently Freddie knows you more than me now and I’m appalled, since I have been friends with you the longest. Or maybe I just have too much faith in you.” He paused and took a deep breath, slowing down his voice as if he was taking to a kid “Roger, why do you think I didn’t let you stay with Deaky all of tomorrow?”

“Hey! You don’t have to talk to me that way. I might be thick but I’m not an idiot!”

“Roger, why do you think I didn’t let you stay with Deaky all of tomorrow? Just answer me okay? And prove you are not an idiot”.

And there it was, back again, the little part of him that knew what was going on, twisting and turning in his gut, full of insight of something he clearly knew but didn’t want to acknowledge, something lurking in the edge of his consciousness, of his feelings, something he had tried to push down for a long time for he knew instinctively that it would only bring him pain. A pain that was bad before but that now would make his current situation an unbearable agony, something he didn’t know if he was strong enough to bear.

Brian put his hand back on top of his own and squeezed “I understand why you don’t want to see it mate, I get the complications it implies, specially now, the changes to your concept of yourself that it must bring, but you need to be strong and do something about it, because you don’t have time.”

Roger gulped, shaking his hand away from Brian’s.

They had just reached their destination. He pulled into the curb and turned off the ignition. He closed his eyes, not wanting to meet Brian’s hazel gaze and see mirrored in his face the compassion he somehow felt for himself for being such an enormous dick and not being able to accept this. Whatever it was.

He suddenly felt dizzy, like all the air had been punched out of his lungs. His breath came labored, like if he had run a marathon, his hands started sweating.

His best friend’s voice was tender when it reached his ears again “I wouldn’t be pushing you if it wasn’t important mate. But I’m sure you will regret it, later, if something happens, that you didn’t do anything about it. And then it will be worse for you and I cannot watch you go down that road Rog. You can’t ask me to see one of my best friends die and the other self destruct because you didn’t have the guts to tell John you love him”.

The words hang in the air, and Roger could almost see them, even with his eyes closed. His breathing somehow worsened.

He felt something inside of him brake, as if Brian’s words had grabbed at his core and twisted until he simply fractured in two. Because somehow, hearing the truth, his truth, out loud and from one of the people he cared most about in the world...he couldn’t ignore it any more. He couldn’t avoid it or push it down. He was the king of self delusion but he was also human and now that his heart had been cracked open, because that was what had snapped he realized, the treacherous thing ached to accept his love for John and sing it from the rooftops.

Because it was love, breed and carved through careful glances, gentle touches. From feeling giddy when John laughed his little honest laugh, the one that he knew meant he was actually feeling happy. From hugs that lasted just a little longer than necessary. From sharing beers in pubs and deep, crazy conversations at 4am in the back of the van.

He realized now that he had fallen in love with John easily, just like their friendship had always been. He had trusted him intuitively from the beginning, and with time he had realized that he could be honest and open and vulnerable with Deaky, like he could never be with anybody else, because he was never going to judge him or hurt him. Because he was good to the bone.

Except, his mind supplied to him suddenly, he was going to hurt him. Because if he admitted this, he also admitted that the life of the man he loved was in danger.

All the denial, all the words he had told John earlier about not allowing him to die, all of his stubborn attempts to not see the truth of the risk his friend was in, suddenly came crashing down around him, taking his world with it.

He started shaking. The air inside the van was too stale, too thin. He had to get out. He didn’t know how he had done it, but suddenly he was outside of his car, hands pressed in its side, arms stretched, carrying his weight as he leaned into them, his head hanging between his shoulders. A sob made way through his throat and he let it. His hair stuck to his sweat stricken forehead.

Sudden rage pulled at his insides. Rage at himself, for not having the guts, the fucking self awareness, to admit he was in love with John sooner. Rage at life, for forcing him to see it just as he was about to loose him. Rage at the fact that it was John, his kind hearted, noble friend and not someone else, who had to go through this, through the horrific experience of being sick and undergoing a surgery in which his ribs would be cracked open and his heart exposed. He mindlessly incorporated and started kicking at the wheel of his van, screaming something he couldn’t understand, blinded by so much red he was sure he was not going to see clear ever again.

Brian was at his side in an instant, and forcefully pulled him to his chest, hugging him with such strength Roger thought he might snap, but literally this time. He trashed against him but the man was taller than him, surprisingly strong for the lankiness of his frame, and wouldn’t let go of him.

He didn’t know for how long he tried to escape from Brian’s arms but eventually, finally, he felt all energy leave him and he sagged, limp, against his chest.

The static in his brain subsided enough that he distinguished his friend’s voice whisper “it’s okay, Rog, shhh, it’s okay”.

“It’s not!” He heard himself say, with a distraught voice “It isn’t Bri because he is going to die and what will I do then?! What will I do with my stupid heart?!”

Brian straightened him by putting both his hands on either of his shoulders and pulling him a little away from his body, still holding him up. Roger was sure he would have collapsed to the ground otherwise.

Then, he looked at him straight in the eye and said “we are not going to let him die. Remember what you told him about not letting him give up? Remember what I just told you about people who have something to live for getting by better in surgeries like this? That is why you have to tell him Rog, so that you give him a reason to live. To fight. Freddie and I can do our best to try to care for him, stay with him and love him as best as we can, as best as he lets us, but it is you who can make all the difference. You saw him. You heard him. He thought we would rather not know about all of this because of the “drama” it implied. He thought he would rather spare us the trouble. It fucking hurt my heart, listening to him. I am convinced that for more words and actions that we take he will not listen to me or Freddie. I’m not sure he will ever accept just how important he is to us. But you, you have a chance to show him, clearly so he doesn’t fool himself into thinking otherwise, what he means to you and make him see that if he dies, it would end you. Because I know it would.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Roger nodded briefly, confirming the worst of his fears like if he was confirming he wanted pizza or a cigarette. It was so disconcertingly easy to do, like if he wasn’t accepting that today his life had gone completely to shit and the future looked bleaker than a rainy London morning.

What else did he have to loose now, admitting that he would be ended if something happened to John? He was having a mental breakdown already.

He lowered his head and whipped at his eyes. He knew he had been crying but the amount of wetness in his face still surprised him.

Brian released one of his shoulders and with his free hand grabbed his chin, pulling his eyes up, to his own, which to the drummer’s astonishment, were filled with tears too.

When he continued his voice came out ragged. From trying to hold back, figured Roger “So then take your chance. You still have it. You can still do something about it. Have balls and tell him that you love him, show him how loved he is, what awaits for him if he stays alive and I’m sure he will come through. He might be quiet but I know John and he is resilient and strong and he will pull through, for you”.

Roger shook his head, minutely, since his chin was still being held by Brian’s hand, “But what if he is disgusted by me? What if he doesn’t return my feelings? What if I push him to the the other side of what we want, because he feels I betrayed our friendship by falling in love with him?”

“He won’t Rog” Brain shook his head, curls grazing his shoulders, and pulled him into his arms once more “he won’t because he loves you back. You both are clearly made for each other since you are two of the thickest people I have ever met. We have seen you and him dance around each other ever since you met, you twat. Freddie and I.” He sniffed “You automatically bonded, took to each other so effortlessly I was jealous there for a moment. But it only lasted a moment, because that is all it took for me to realize that you looked at him with a tenderness you don’t have for anyone else. And that he opened up to you like he didn’t to the rest of us. That he smiles at you differently. That he only smiles at you. And honestly, you guys held hands for an hour today mate, how can you both be so dense?”

“That is not enough evidence” mumbled Roger into his friend’s shirt. He vaguely remembered that just a little while ago he had had John in a similar position to the one he was currently in, cradled against his chest. He made a mental note to never wash the shirt he was wearing again. “And also, he is sick and I don’t want to do anything that can upset him. In any way. God Bri, all I want is for him to be safe and happy and not to have to deal with anything bad, least of all my messy, complicated self.” He shook his head and covered his face with his hands awkwardly, since his arms were still wrapped around by Brian’s “All I want is to take care of him, not burden him with my feelings”.

“Haven’t you listened to one thing I have said?” Replied the guitarist, rocking him lightly “If you tell him about your feelings you are going to do the exact opposite of burdening him. Because he is in love with you Rog. If you ever trust me on anything, for the sake of our friendship and our record together, please trust me on this. He loves you. And also, there will be no better way of taking care of him than telling him that you love him too, which is the truth, and then being there for him for whatever comes next. Both in terms of you two and of the surgery”.

“Brian, if he wasn’t going to tell us that he was sick in the first place, then tried to cut us out completely, and is the most stubborn human we both know, what makes you think he will accept that he loves me back, if at all, given the circumstances, and then let me help him through this?”

Brian’s voice lowered an octave and he shook him once more, a little more forcefully this time “We made him promise to fight. We made him promise he would let us help him. So he is not completely closed off. If you try hard enough, which you can do since you are a stubborn ass yourself, he will let you in. I’m sure. I’m not saying it will be easy Rog, but you have try. You have to man up and risk it, risk him pushing you away, and be brave and come back until he accepts you. Because he loves and you love him back and in the end he will let you in. It’s time for you to stop running mate. It’s time for you to stop hiding. You have to brave and strong for John now. That’s the only way we save him. The only way you save him and yourself”.

Roger shuddered. This day had really been the definition of a nightmare for it had taught him what real fear meant. Fear of losing Deaky. Fear of facing his feelings for him. Fear of telling him and have him reject him. Fear of not being strong enough to face all that was coming their way, all the pain and trouble that he was sure lay ahead. Today all of his denial had been stripped away, all of the things he told himself he was and his life were, all of his sense of security. Everything was shattering over and over and over again, taking his skin with them, leaving him bare and raw and so cold. 

And then, in place of the cold, a little flame flashed and took shape. In his mind’s eye he could see Deaky’s face, clear as day, as he laughed. He could remember sharply how his arms felt around him, the boniness of his shoulders, the little frown he got when he was writing a specially good riff, his unbelievable amount of sass.

God, how could he love him this much and hadn't realized it? Guess he was a thick idiot after all. Because the love that was housed in his chest was so strong, and so big, that once acknowledged it started spreading all around him, into his very bones, like a golden seal, making an armor in place of the skin he had just lost, making him stronger and braver, making him better than he was.

Yes, he had been a coward up to that point, and maybe he would never forgive himself for the time he had lost, but Deaky was still alive, his mind reminded him with a sudden surge of something that resembled hope, and he could still do something to fix the situation. Like Brian had so adamantly reminded him. Right then and there, with this new feeling on his very core, he promised himself that he was going to be courageous from now on. That he was going to face things head on, be honest, with himself and others, and that he was going to be there for his bassist. He was going to love him, whether he returned his feelings or not, whether he admitted them or not. He was going to be there for him, whatever happened. He was going to make sure he survived, whatever it took from him.

Fear was still there. Heck he was scared shitless. But he felt like he could manage it. He could overcome it. For John. Because that was the definition of being brave wasn’t it? Being scared but doing it anyways.

He couldn’t hide his true emotions from his best friend though “I’m so scared Bri”.

The guitarist straightened him again, this time holding him up by his biceps “Of course you are scared. It is only natural. Shit, I’m scared too. But know this, you won’t be alone. Either of you. You have Freddie and me. What you said back there is true for me and I’m sure it’s for Fred too, we are a family and we’ll be fine because of that. In the end, you’ll see, somehow we will be fine” he paused for a moment and then added, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Roger “We have to believe that”.

“We have to believe that” repeated the drummer, feeling for his legs and finding they could finally carry him up. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and attempted a weak smile at Brian, his chest blooming in warmth at the sight of his best friend in the world, face tear stricken but smiling back at him, who had just put him through one of the toughest moments in his life. He felt such incredible affection for this lanky dork it was unbelievable.

He let that feeling infuse his next words “Thank you Bri”. And then he remembered with a frown “Didn’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

The guitarist lowered his head sheepishly and shook his head “I lied”.

“You lied about school?!” Roger’s eyebrows went almost to his fangs and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, comprehension dawning on him “wait, was all this why you didn’t let me stay with Deaky all of tomorrow?”

Now Brian looked downright mortified “Yeah. I mean... I wanted to have this time to talk to you about all of this, just the two of us, without Fred around. So I lied about my exam. But I also wanted to give him the chance to talk to you on his own, in case I couldn’t get through, so I figured tomorrow afternoon he could have a go at it, while I watched Deaky”.

“Wait, wait, wait. Where both of you in on this?”

“How could we? We didn’t exactly have a chance to talk after John broke the news to the three of us, together. I don’t know what Freddie is playing at but by the looks of it, and the conversations we’ve had previously, he wants the same thing I do”.

“So” said Roger, eyes widening “this means I can stay with Deaky all of tomorrow then?”

“Only if you tell him.”

“I hate you”.

“You don’t” said Brain, cleaning his face in his sleeve. He interlinked Roger’s arm with his own and pulled him to start walking down the road, up to the entrance of his building. “Now come up to the flat and have a beer with me. It’s been a horrible day. Even I think we need alcohol. I’ll help you think what you’ll say to Deaky tomorrow”.

“But, the stall...” said the drummer, remembering abruptly that he actually had a job he had to go to today.

“Ohhhh” hummed Brian, opening the glass door in front of him easily ”I’m sure Fred will understand. And if not, don’t worry mate, I’ll kick his ass for you”.

No, he really didn’t hate Brian. He couldn’t if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't my baby boi Brian the best?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the evening we just saw with Brian and Roger? Now let's see how it went down for Deaky and Freddie. Go!

Freddie closed the door behind him with a sight.

He had just basically pushed out Roger and Brian out into the street, following an incredibly well timed declaration from the nerdy guitarist that he had an exam the next day that he had to study for.

Ohh but he wasn’t fooling Freddie. 

He knew Brian always studied ahead of time for his exams and had the feeling that he had lied to get some one on one time with Roger, to convince him to confess to Deaky.

He hoped to God that that was the case, because they had to do something, soon, to get those two to declare to each other, because time was running thin. 

He and Brian had already plotted a bit, before Deaky’s situation got complicated, to get the love birds together, but had decided not to push it, to give time for one of them to pull their heads out of their asses and do something about it themselves.

He had maintained to Brian that Roger was simply never going to shake out the “epic lady’s man” complex he had, long enough to do something about the way he looked at Deaky, which honestly, was so painfully obvious he didn’t understand how the other man hadn’t noticed.

But then he remembered how he had just reacted to his sickness, how he had pushed them out and tried to cut them off, not wanting to give them any trouble because “they could simply go and find another bass player”, and understood. 

John simply wasn’t into letting people in. Not even them, who had been playing with him for over a year and were, to his understanding, his best friends.

His heart ached at the realization, but he pushed the pain away, just as he had pushed the fear and dread he felt at the news of John’s health out of his system, as best as he could. 

This was not the time to wallow in his own misery. Now was not the time to wallow in his own terror of what was probably going to happen to the silent, honorable creature that looked at him curiously right now. 

Now was the time to help him, and helping him now included getting him to admit his affection for and to Roger.

Ohh, because for all his stoic detachment from his feelings, it was very clear to both Freddie and Brian that he was just as in love with Roger as the drummer was with him, if the way he smiled at him was anything to go by. 

“Why are you giving me that inquisitive cat glance Deaky?” He said as he took a seat besides him, on the loveseat.

John frowned, hesitated for a moment and then said, plain and simple “what did you mean when you told me _you are giving yourself too much away?_ ”

Ohh, so it was going to be like that. Straight to the point. Not even asking Freddie if he knew of what he was speaking about or not.

John always surprised him with how smart and intuitive he was. How much he understood. How direct he could be. He always thought of him as so innocent and kind, that he sometimes forgot he was like every other member of Queen: a fucking genius. 

“I meant it the way I am sure you understood it” he said shrugging “You were being really obvious about your attraction to Roger, so I called you out on it.” His kept his voice purposefully neutral, making it sound as if he had just said the most natural thing in the world. 

John blushed and for a moment, the healthy red that tinted his cheeks made him look like the Deaky Freddie knew. The one full of snark and brilliant bass riffs. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight and he hushed it. Yet again. God, what was happening to John was seriously taking a toll on his feelings and as much as he had a grip on them, well… he just hoped he could keep it together for as long as he had to. 

“I... don’t know what you are taking about Fred” answered the owner of his worry, lowering his gaze to his lap. Not so blunt when faced with the truth full on huh?

“What do you mean you don’t know? Dear, we all know you like Roger. Well, Brian and I know because I am sure he doesn’t. He is a gigantic ass, after all”

“Hey! Don’t call him that!” defended Deaky, looking up at him with an indignant expression.

Freddie had to laugh “but you don’t like him”.

“Well... I just don’t think he is a gigantic ass... that’s all” John lowered his gaze again and Freddie knew he had a tough job ahead of him.  John was in clear denial mode. He wondered for a moment how best to play this and, after a moment’s reflection, started again “Deaky, have you ever been in love before?”

The bassist seemed to consider this for a minute and then answered, pulling his head up to look ahead, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“Just humor me please” God, wasn’t he the stubbornest human Freddie had ever met. He wondered how Brian was doing with his side of this couple and if he would have to talk to Roger the next day too. He prayed he wouldn’t. He didn’t have patience enough for both these idiots.

Deaky remained silent enough that Freddie turned to look at him. He was playing with the hem of his shirt, a sure sign of nervousness if he had ever seen one.

So he tried to reassure him “It’s okay Deaks, you can tell me. You know I won’t judge you”.

“It’s just... “ he stopped, made a face and then looked up at the ceiling, letting his head fall back onto the back of the loveseat, making a frustrated noise before he continued, talking to the air above him “it’s just that you have Mary and Roger is Roger and Brian... is he even attracted to something other than academia?”

Freddie scoffed “ohh you have no idea. But that is not our topic at hand. You still haven’t answered me.”

Deaky picked up his head from its resting place and turned to look at his friend, an expression of exasperation on his face “No, Freddie, if you must know I have never been in love. Or in a relationship, or in something remotely close to it”. 

“How do you know? That you have never been in love I mean” The singer prompted. He couldn’t believe he would have to walk John through the mechanics of how love worked, but it made sense really. If he was as alienated from his emotions as he seemed to be.

“Well...” and there, Deaky looked at a loss for words. He grunted, shook his head and answered “because I know Fred. How couldn’t I know? They are my feelings we are taking about”.

Freddie considered, just for a second, not telling him the truth of what he thought and rather take the gentle approach, but then he remembered the way the bassist had just openly faced him with his comments and he decided to be completely straightforward. Even if he knew this wasn’t about being honest anymore, that he was going to give him his point of view about something that he had really no right to talk about, and what he was about to say was something that Deaky probably wasn’t going to like. He knew he was going into dangerous territory here but he had to try it. He loved John. He wanted him to be happy and he couldn’t think of a better way of doing it than what he was doing just now. 

So he took a deep breath and said “No offense Darling but you don’t seem to be very well acquainted with those”.

Deaky looked stunned for a moment, his shoulders pushed back, his eyes wide. Then he opened his mouth to reply, his demeanor changing from surprised to openly offended quickly. He didn’t get a word out though. He shut his mouth, sagging against the loveseat a minute later, all of his indignation evaporated. Finally he lowered his head into his chest, whispering miserably “yeah, well, you are right on that one”. 

And then he hunched over, letting his head fall on his hands, elbows on knees, back completely curved, hair hiding his face. He didn’t seem to be crying but Freddie couldn’t be sure. 

For a moment he just looked at him, hesitating again. How much could he push this? He wished for just a second to be a biologist like Roger and understand how the heart worked, so he could know exactly how much stress Deaky could endure before something happened to him. Because right now he was his responsibility and he didn’t want anything to happen to him. Ever, but less under his watch.

Yet, they were clearly reaching a break through, because the only other time Freddie had ever seen Deaky show this much emotion was when they had all hugged him a little while ago. He was opening up and he had to take the chance as it was presenting itself. 

Because Freddie was sure, as sure as he had been that his real name was Freddie Mercury and not Farrok Bulsara, that this was necessary. Vital even. He was sure both John and Roger needed to tell each other how they felt in case... something happened. He was certain that John needed to know love once in his life, to have the support and care of a lover on his side as he went through what he was sure was the most difficult time of his life. Just as he was convinced Roger would never forgive himself if Deaky died and he hadn’t done anything about his feelings for him.

He and Brian could love John and help him, but for all their brotherly love they couldn’t provide what Roger could, if they somehow managed to get together. He knew that from Mary, whose support meant more to him than anything ever had.

If he could help two of his best friends feel what he felt with Mary, then this was worth the risk. 

“John, darling” he said then, lowering his voice to a murmur and placing a tender hand on his lower back “just... think about it a little. No, rather feel about it a little. Try to feel your heart. Listen to what it has to tell you. Do you really feel about Roger the way you feel about me? About Brian? Just, compare how you feel about Roger to how you feel about everybody else and the tell me it’s not different.”

Deaky remained in the same position, motionless, not giving any sign that he had heard him. He stayed like that for a long moment before he spoke, his voice full of emotion “it is different. I know it is different”.

Then he straightened, and turned to look at Freddie, face twisted in despair, hands in the air, gesticulating wildly “but what is the point of me knowing that Fred?! What?! A) I am facing a surgery which survival rate is 40%, did you know that? And B) He is fucking Roger Meddows Taylor, he is not going to want me. Why would he want me?! A sick gay virgin? Last time I checked he could have any woman he wanted, out of a crowd. There is no way in hell he would want me, plain old Deaky, now sick as an added bonus thank you very much, but even if he did, Wednesday is just around the corner and I know I promised you guys I would fight, and I will, but the chances that I make it are still slim!”

His breathing had become labored and the flush which had looked healthy on him just 5 minutes ago now looked threatening. Panicking a bit, Freddie put up his hands in Deaky’s shoulders, pushing him back into loveseat “Hey darling, there is no need to get upset here, breathe, can you breathe for me Deaky dear?” 

The bassist shook his head adamantly, his expression just as freaked out as Freddie felt, and then closed his eyes, making a very clear effort to breathe deeply. His hands grabbed onto the fabric of the piece of furniture underneath him, his knuckles turning white. 

Not knowing what else to do, the singer took Deaky’s hands on his own and squeezed, stroking them gently, making soothing noises all the while. 

Shit, this had gotten out of control fast. Roger was going to kill him. So much for his calculated risk. 

It took John around 5 minutes of heavy panting to get his breathing back under control and when he did, he leaned heavily into Freddie’s side, now looking paler than white rice.

Full of regret for his actions, Freddie put an arm around his friend’s shoulders to keep him steady and give him whatever comfort he could and muttered into the silence that enveloped them “I’m so sorry John. I shouldn’t have pushed you… I didn’t mean...”

“It’s okay Fred” answered Deaky, his voice weak “I... that had to happen. I had been swallowing and ignoring my feelings for Roger for so long that I think that accepting them and seeing them made them all hit me at the same time and well... I have been avoiding my feelings, all of them, for far too long. I feel like today all I have done is get hit by these… realizations and they just overwhelmed me. That’s what happened. Don’t worry”. He shrugged minutely and then added “Actually, thank you. Because I have to, no, I want to deal with these things, you know? If I’m going to die, then I want to come to terms with as much as I can”.

“You are not going to die” replied the singer, echoing Roger’s words from before.

“I’ll do my best not to but mate, frankly, we don’t know”. 

Freddie had no good answer to that, so he didn’t say anything else. Everything fell silent again. Something in the back of his mind kept bothering him though, something that he knew was important. And then he realized he hadn’t told John one particularly big detail about this whole situation.

Grasping his mistake, he almost jumped out of their quiet embrace as he nearly shouted “Roger is in love with you too”.

Deaky straightened up, surprised. He then registered what his friend had just said, his expression coloring with disbelief and shock. “That can’t be right” he said after a pause. 

“But it is true” replied Freddie, eagerly. 

“You can’t know that... unless he has told you something?” The bassist frowned.

“What did I just tell you about Roger being a gigantic ass Deaky? He didn’t need to tell us. He is very clear in the way he acts towards you. You really haven’t noticed how he looks at you? His reaction when you fainted in practice? God when you started going pale the man was besides himself with worry. He couldn’t talk about anything else but the fact that we had to take care of you. Actually, I don’t know how Brian and I got him to leave today, but I’m sure he is not letting anyone take care of you from tomorrow on. You heard he wanted to stay with you. Heck, you practically held hands for an hour today, that didn’t ring a bell in your head?”

John seemed to consider this, and then answered “but Roger is not gay”.

“I don’t think Roger cares much about your gender Deaky. I think he fell head over heals in love with you whether he liked it or not, from the moment you came into that awful place where we rehearsed, carrying your amp as if it was your baby”.

John laughed a little and whispered “I love that amp”.  Then he scratched behind his ear with his hand for a moment, clearly thinking, and said “but Roger is such a womanizer and if he was going to fall in love with a bloke…why would that be me, really? Should I go back to the list of reasons why that makes no sense?”

Freddie shook his head “Roger’s reputation proceeds him. Everybody knows he is a lady’s man, because that is the image he likes to perpetrate. The image he puts out there. His shield, so to speak? In the time I’ve known him I’ve seen him take interest in men and women alike and in the past year I have also seen him be more and more about bragging than actually sleeping with people. I’m pretty certain that has something to do with the adding of a certain bassist to Queen’s line up”.

Deaky blushed again (the rational part of his brain reminded him that he had to be careful with John now, after the episode he had just had) and looked down, his hands twisting in his lap. He looked so uncertain, so completely unbelieving that it broke Freddie’s heart a little. How could John not see that Roger would be absolutely blind no to notice him, not to love him? How could he not see that he was one of the most gracious people he had ever met, one of the most compassionate friends he had ever had and one hell of an intelligent, talented man? 

“That’s not true” the bassist muttered then, and now his voice was sad “because there is nothing special about me Fred and Roger is…he is like the sun…God, I am really in love with him, how could I let this happen?” He threw his head back and his hands in the air, and then, quite unexpectedly, he ducked his head into Freddie shoulder, and said muffled against his arm “why am I sick again? What did I do to deserve this?”

Freddie was taken aback by his friend’s actions because of two things. The first, the fact that he had initiated contact, when it was usually him who hugged him or kissed his cheek, or did anything physical to him, John always slightly reluctant to his touches. To anyone’s really, but Roger’s. And the second, because he was opening up to him, in a way he hadn’t before. His hunch from earlier was right because the bassist was letting his guard down and being vulnerable, letting Freddie catch a glimpse at what went on inside that head and that heart of his.

The affection he had for his friend stirred in his chest at this understanding and then hurt, because he realized what he had actually asked. Which was a horrible query to try and answer. An injustice for which he had no explanation. 

Trying to answer Deaky’s gesture, he placed his arms around his shoulders again and then lowered his head onto the bassist’s, who tensed minutely against him only to then proceed to sag completely into his embrace. Letting himself be hold, realized Freddie. 

“Deaky dear” he said, in the softest voice he could manage “I am willing to stick my hands in the fire that you didn’t do anything to deserve this. In fact, I can’t think of anyone that deserves this less than you. Because you are special John Deacon, whether you see it or not. But we see it. Brian, me and well, obviously Roger, lucky bastard. You are in fact of the most exceptional men I have ever met. You know why?”

John shook his head slightly, forehead still on Freddie’s shoulder. “Because you have one big, golden heart my dear. And for the life of me I can’t understand why you try so hard to hide it. And to ignore it”.

Deaky shuddered from head to toe and Freddie thought for a second that he had rocked the boat too far again, but then the bassist said “you are being too kind to me Freddie”.

“Ohh no. I am being honest. You wanted to know why would Roger fell in love with you and not with anybody else? Well, there is your answer. Our little chaos of a drummer might seem like a dick” he paused when John picked up his head from where it lay and positively glared at him “but inside he is a kind, kind man. Who also has a big heart, one he too tries tries to stifle, but his methods are more self destructive. Certainly, you two are made for each other. Maybe if you actually get together you will stop trying to avoid your hearts and start using them”.

John uncoiled himself from Freddie’s side and the singer would be lying if he didn’t admit he felt the action with a pang of loss. He then proceeded to stand up, carefully. The singer was at his side in second, hovering like a hawk. Deaky just gave him his best arched eyebrow and said “I’m not gonna pass out Fred, I just need to stretch my legs”.

A little embarrassed, Freddie went back to the loveseat “Don’t push this under the rug, Deaks, what are you thinking? What are you going to do?”

John stretched his arms over his head, elongating all of his torso with the movement. When he came down from the strain he looked bitter “Nothing. The facts don’t change. Even if I could believe you, even if Roger somehow fell in love with me… it doesn’t matter, because things remain the same Fred. I am sick. He is healthy. I won’t drag him further into this. I already involved you guys too much. I won’t hurt him more than I have to”.

“The only way you are going to hurt him if you don’t tell him how you feel. I believe, with all of my heart, that you are going to be alright John, once you get the surgery, but if we take into account the chances, as you are so adamant in doing, what do you think will happen to Roger if something does arise?”

“I just don’t see what good could come from me accepting my feelings for him. What difference can it make to him if I die in end?” And there, in his tone, Freddie knew he had lost. Because it was determined, with the whole of his stubbornness behind it. But he wasn’t going to give up just yet. 

“How can you say that?! It makes all the difference. Because having love, for whatever time you can have it, is worth everything in life. I am sure, completely sure, that he would rather have that than nothing”.

“Well, we can’t know, can we? Because he hasn’t said anything to me and I am final in my decision not to tell him myself.” He then sat down and looked at his friend straight in the eyes, and in those grey pools the singer saw sorrow, like he hadn’t seen before, just for a second before they turned to steel, cold and detached. He instantly knew the Deaky he had just witnessed, the one he had hugged, was gone. He hoped not for long, but he somehow understood, in the depth of his own heart, that the pain of being sick and the risk it posed to him and to Roger, if he let him in, was too much for the bassist to handle. And then all his denial made sense. Fuck was this a horrible situation “and you won’t tell him Freddie. You won’t because you will respect me and my wishes. Okay?”

And really, what could he say to that? All he could do now was hope that Brian had somehow managed to get to Roger, and convince him that he had to try his damn hardest to get to Deaky, because even if the drummer had managed to get his head out of women and booze, if he did confess to the man before him, he wasn’t going to have it easy.

With a sight and heavy heart he answered “I don’t agree with this. You are hurting yourself as much as Roger. But okay. I won’t say a thing” he raised his hands then, in a warning expression “but you have to think of what you are going to tell him, if he does tell you himself”.

“He won’t” said Deaky, looking triumphant for a second, before heartbreak took over his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we all love Jim but since this is set roughly around the 70s, then it is Mary we get. Plus, we all know how much Mary's support meant to Freddie, throughout his life, so it made sense to mention it here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just drama all around my friends.

Roger looked at the clock in the wall and almost gagged. It had been an hour already since he had arrived at Deaky’s Mother’s house and he still hadn’t been able to tell the man how he felt about him.

He had promised himself (and Brain, he had to admit) that he would do it as soon as he arrived, so that he wouldn’t loose his nerve and backtracked before even beginning. 

He wasn’t going to bail, no way, that was for sure. But by now he had surely lost some of his nerve. Actually, he wasn’t even sure he had had any in the first place.

He opened his mouth to form words, coherent sentences he hoped, for what felt like and probably was the100th time that day only to find that he wasn’t able to speak. He had gone mute. That was the only possible explanation. 

He shook his head and closed his eyes, rubbing at them with his fingertips. When he opened them again, he did so to find Deaky’s gaze starting right at him, something like apprehension in it, a confused frown plastered on his features. 

“Rog, are you okay? You have been acting weird since you arrived and right now, you look like you are going to puke.”

John was right. He was so nervous he was surely going to be sick at any moment. He took a deep breath and tried to speak again, but only a whine came out from his throat, making Deaky’s face contort into a worried expression.

“Rog? Should I call Brian?”

And that did it.

“Don’t call Brian!” He shouted, making Deaky flinch. 

“Okay, okay” said the man raising his hands in a defensive gesture “But then tell me what is going on”.

Roger was sure his heart was about to burst, because he simply couldn’t do this. He was terrible with feelings, and obviously this was going to take some pretty intense elaboration of his emotions to someone who might not be very willing to accept them, but at the same time was the owner of his ass so, yeah, he was pretty scared.

But after yesterday, after everything he had gone through with Brian, everything he had realized about what he felt for John, he couldn’t betray himself and his heart by not acting now, just because he was frightened.

He had to risk his skin on this, like he hadn’t any time before, because (how had he taken years, years to realize this escaped him) as hard as he had tried to protect himself by keeping everything casual with every woman and man he had ever been with, as much as he had tried to dull the pain of being alone with booze and partying, this was different.

Deaky was different. Deaky was worth it. 

Because he loved him. And he had never loved anyone before. 

He turned to look at him, every pore of his body aware of his presence, of where their knees touched against each other, of the way he could feel John’s chest as it took in air and exhaled it if he paid attention, and he felt a little better, a little surer of himself.

A hand in front of his face broke his musings before he could do anything more though “You are really freaking me out Rog, I’m calling the guys”.

Deaky made to stand up and Roger, alarmed, all but pushed him back into the coach, screaming as he did “No, don’t! I love you!”

Ohh fuck. 

Ohhh fuck, fuck fuck. 

He felt the floor fall from underneath him as he pulled his hands back from Deaky’s shoulders, stunned at his own stupidity.

John stared at the wall in front of him, unmoving, before turning to look at him with a blank face “What did you just say?”

He gulped, his heart leaping in his chest in a way that made him breathless. It _was_ going to burst. Panic clutched at his gut, adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream.

How had he been so foolish? How had he let his mouth run off like that, ruining one of the most important moments of his life? 

Had he screwed up beyond repair? 

Well, as much as he wanted to kill himself for being such an absolute idiot right now, he didn’t really have the time for it. Because John was there, in front of him, and he expected an answer.

Suddenly, he realized that this was it, this was his chance. The chance to tell Deaky how he felt about him.

And he had to take it and run with it, he had to make it right. Even if he had started by messing up, he could fix it. He had to.

He looked for Deaky’s eyes and what he found in them made the fear in his stomach become lead. Because they were cold. They had always been grey but now they looked like metal, like they had gone solid.

He had ruined it. Pain leaked from every one of his heartbeats and he hesitated, before a voice inside his head, a voice that sounded like Brian, reminded him “you have to man up and risk it, risk him pushing you away, and be brave and come back until he accepts you”.

So, gathering all of his wits and courage, he straightened up and said, in a voice so sure and steady it surprised him, “I love you John Deacon. I have loved you since the first time I saw you in practice and you had on that god awful yellow T-shirt you still wear, carrying around your amp like if it was a stray baby chicken and you were his mother. I have loved you since the first time I saw you drink tea, and noticed the way you smile at the end of each cup, like if nothing could make you happier. Damn, I wish I was tea. I loved you when you skipped rehearsals to do your electronics projects, even if I missed you. I have loved you, all day, everyday, since the beginning. Just as I love you now and I will love you tomorrow, and the next day, no matter what happens”.

A feeling of relief somehow flooded him, because even though he had made a big mistake at the prelude, the rest of his confession had come out quite nicely, if he said so himself. Maybe he wasn’t that terrible at elaborating on his emotions.

Or perhaps it was just that he was a song writer, and that the song he was now singing, that he had just sang, had been in the making, unknowingly, inside his heart, ever since he had first met Deaky.

_The Ballad of John Deacon_  

The subject of his affections though, didn’t seem moved by his poetry, though his eyes did soften for a flash of a second. He remained deathly still and when he spoke again, his tone could have frozen a tundra “What did Freddie tell you?”

Now this stunned Roger, all satisfaction with himself leaving him, “Freddie? What?! I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since yesterday, why would you bring him up?!”

“Don’t lie to me” said John, his voice low, almost a snare. He was looking at the drummer straight on, his eyes filling with anger.

And Roger was honestly confused, because this was not the reaction he had been expecting. What did the lead singer of Queen had to do with any of this? He wavered, not knowing what to answer. 

And then it dawned on him, hitting him in the head like a ton of bricks “John, what did you tell Freddie?! What does Freddie know?!”

“You know what I told Freddie, don’t play dumb. And he went and told you, when I expressly told him not to” The bassist took a deep breath and closed his eyes, clearly trying to calm himself down. His nostrils flared a few times, but after a couple of minutes, where Roger didn’t move one inch, scared to fucking shit Deaky would pass out on him from anger, he sagged against the coach, weariness coloring every line of his body. 

When he opened his eyes next, his gaze was sad “Look Rog, maybe you want to believe you love me, because of what has been happening with my health, and what Freddie told you about my feelings for you, but it simply cannot be true. Because if that was the case, you would have said something before this mess began, and you never said anything. I’ve never seen you have any problems making your claim on someone, why would it be different…”

“…with you?” interrupted Roger, unable to stop himself, his body on the edge of exploding after listening to the man he loved say he felt something for him too “Why would it be different with you?!” His voice was breaking, and he was sure he was shaking but it didn’t matter “it is different with you because I actually care about you! Because I actually love you god damn it! And I…” he lowered his head, looking at his hands before standing up to pace around the small living room, striding from one side to the other “I had never loved anyone else in my whole damn life John! Taking someone home is easy” Deaky flinched at this, but he kept going “you don’t have any commitment, any sort of attachment. And I hate attachment, and commitment, you know this. I sometimes hate it when you guys call me a dick, but sometimes… sometimes I am one. I take fun and games over the real thing and, this is news to me too let me tell you, I guess I do it because I am scared of getting myself hurt in the process. But with you…” he sat down by John’s side again, taking his hand in his like the previous day and was actually surprised when the man didn’t snatch it away but let him hold it “Shit I am not going to lie. I’m am even more scared, I am fucking petrified. Because I’ve never done this. And I know it’s not going to be easy. I’m putting myself in a pretty vulnerable position here, giving you this much information and my heart along with it, but it’s you and I... I want this. I want the commitment and the attachment and the difficulty and the whole fucking package. In the good times and in the bad. Yes, the timing sucks and I will never forgive myself for not doing anything before your health forced me to face my fucking feelings for you, but I hope one day you will forgive me, where I can’t. And yes, before you go there again, this whole situation with your heart did shake some long coming sense into me, like I just said, but that doesn’t make my feelings for you any less real or valid. They have been there, from the beginning. I was just an idiot who couldn’t face them before” he stopped abruptly, running out of steam,  and looked down safely at John’s sneakers where he didn’t have to face him.

A second passed in complete silence. Maybe two. It really didn’t matter because for Roger it felt like a decade. His hand kept holding on to John’s, which was trembling slightly.

When the bassist spoke again though, his voice came out cynical, but with a slight edge to it. Something the drummer couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry, but even after that little speech I still find it hard to believe that you, you of all people, would look at someone like me. We are friends Roger and that is enough. I don’t want you to force yourself into something just because you think it would make me happy. Before I die I mean.”

“What?!” howled Roger, anger boiling his nerves to zero and finally driving him to insanity. He let go of John’s hand and stood up again, unable to stay still, agony burning his insides because it suddenly hit him that Deaky didn’t accept his confession because he somehow thought he wasn’t enough for him “you think I am doing this, saying this, out of pity?!” he hit his chest, with both hands without thinking, making John jump back slightly in his seat “How can you… how dare you think that?! You think someone like me, a drunk who sleeps around and throws temper tantrums can’t fall in love with you, a dedicated, funny, sweet man?! I am the one who has no business looking at someone like you but you know what? I can’t help it! Because you are so much John Deacon! You are honest, and genuine and so creative! You are so talented and yes, maybe I’ve never seen anything more sexy than the way you play the bass but that is a bonus! You are so much more than I deserve but I don’t care because I am selfish and I want you for me!”

“How can you say that yourself?!” And now it was John’s turn to stand up and yell at him, an accusatory finger pointed directly at his chest “You are not a drunk! You do like partying but God Roger, you are like the fucking sunshine when it touches the fucking meadow! You light everything around you, just from being there! You warm everything around you and make it alive, make it thrive, fill it with energy! You are…”

And Roger never got to know what Deaky was going to say to him next, for he kissed him, full on the mouth. And John kissed him back, furiously, clearly pouring all of his irritation, all of his emotions into the kiss. He opened his mouth automatically to him, and the drummer took the chance on instinct, using his tongue to scrape at the roof of his mouth, before turning his attention to his tongue, with which he battled for dominance.

It was the hottest, angriest kiss Roger had ever received and he had done his fair share of kissing before. Because this kiss made his blood boil and lust pool at the bottom of his belly but at the same time made his heart flutter and his stomach churn and he was a teenager again, in love for the first time. It was the best thing he had ever felt. It made light him up like a thousand fireflies where inside him, it was so incredibly exciting. 

And then Deaky placed his hands inside his shirt, fingertips grazing at his skin, electricity sparking every one of his nerve endings, expanding from where John had his hands and he moaned without intending it and yes… that was the object of his love gasping for breath inside the kiss. 

Alarms going off in his head, panic gripping at his throat, the drummer broke the kiss, basically carrying John to the coach on his arms. The man was shaky and sweaty, his red, swollen lips a stark contrast to how pale the rest of him was. 

He cursed himself for the millionth time that day for letting his impulsive self take over and do something he knew, that years of fucking school had taught him, was going to end up like this. 

He didn’t know what to do, the instinct to go hit something, someone blinding him. Only Deaky´s labored breath anchored him, freezing him to the spot, keeping him sitting at his side, watching his face with anguish as it went from terror, to despair, to uneasiness. 

Finally, it settled on exhaustion, his breaths coming in a calmer, slower way.

As he quieted down, what little color he had had before returning to his cheeks, he let himself fall sideways, into Roger´s side. It took the drummer about ten seconds to put his arms around him, underneath his slim ribs, turning him to envelop him completely, his hands resting on the other man’s upper back. He hooked his chin on his shoulder blade and, without warning to John or himself, started sobbing, guilt dripping from his every word “I’m so sorry Deaky, I’m so sorry love. I’m so sorry I didn’t think… this is all my fault. All of it is. The kiss, the confession... I put you through too much, I did it all wrong…” he hiccuped.

“This isn’t your fault Rog” answered Deaky, his voice raspy and weak. His own arms were around Roger’s shoulders, holding him gingerly, with whatever strength he could muster “This was a bad play from life. This is… unfair really. I felt something for you too, all along, since our first rehearsal, and I didn’t do anything either” he paused, took a deep breath “I never though you would… you would see me as anything other than your band mate. God, I still can’t believe it” he stopped, for Roger had made an unhappy sound at his statement, but then continued “I didn’t even know you liked men. You were always after the women, always so adored by them…”.

“I was such an idiot. I was trying and failing to make myself feel better when nothing, nothing has ever felt more right than you”.

John snorted weakly “I never took you for a sap Roger Taylor”.

“Get used to it”.

Deaky pulled back from the hug, and Roger almost whimpered at the loss. With the distance now between them, the drummer could stare into John’s grey eyes and what he saw in them was completely different from what he had seen, not an hour ago. Because now they were liquid pools, where he could see pain and sorrow swirling along with love and adoration. His weary, used heart gave a full summersault, tired from all the day’s (week’s?) happenings, but not enough not to acknowledge the miracle it was that Deaky actually loved him back. 

The man in question cleaned his tears with gentle, quivering hands. When he finished, he placed said hands on his chest lightly “There will be no getting used to anything Rog, because we are not getting together. We can’t. I am sick. I can’t even kiss you properly, let alone shag you, without almost fainting. I can’t do this to you. I can’t tie you down to a lost cause” he closed his eyes, shaking his head. As he did so, a couple of tears escaped them, tears that the drummer whipped away with his calloused fingers quickly.

“Deaky please…” the drummer begged, his voice full of misery “Don’t do this to me. Don’t tell me you have feelings for me and then say you can’t be with me because of your health. Don’t you understand? I want to be there for you. I need to be there for you. God, I don’t think it’s not even about you anymore. I need to be there for me, for my sanity, to do something for you, to keep you alive by my own sheer will if I have to, to be as close to you as I can. To make sure you are safe, even if I clearly suck at it, I will get better, I promise… please… don’t push me away…"

“I’m not… not completely. We are still friends and will remain friends. You will still be able to go with me to the hospital and be here and take care of me, like you want, like Brian and Freddie will to. But we can’t be together.” He paused, a couple more tears spilling from his eyelashes “This is breaking my heart too, can’t you see it? But I cannot bring myself to…not to you” he finished the last of the sentence in a sob, and Roger threw his arms around him again, cradling him into his chest. 

He hushed him, rocking him lightly. 

He was heart broken, but he had to try and be logical, try and make a plan, think like Brian would think. He had let his hastiness rule him so far but right now he had to think straight, seeing as this was too important. Because there was no way in hell in which he was going to leave this as Deaky wanted, but he couldn’t force him into anything either. This was too much for him already. 

He had to figure out a way to keep pushing for him, but mildly, making sure John knew and felt his love, but without stifling him. 

An idea popped into his head then, an idea which might work. So he tried “Tell me John, is there anything I can do, anything I can say, to change your mind?”

Deaky shook his head into his shirt (Another shirt he was never going to wash).

Yeah, he thought so.

Then, he would play it like this: “Then promise me something. If you are doing this to me, if you are doing this to us. Promise me that you will fight with your teeth to stay alive, knowing that I am here, and I love you and that the moment you get out of that hospital on your feet, perfectly healthy, I will be there for you, ready to pick this conversation up”.

John snuggled a little closer into Roger’s arms and didn’t say anything. The drummer opened his mouth to continue, thinking he wasn’t going to get an answer, but then he heard a faint “okay” reach his ears.

“Then” he placed his cheek on top of Deaky’s unruly hair, knowing with complete certainty from the bassist’s reaction that his plan was going to work, he said “I promise you that I won’t let Brian or Freddie take over babysitting duties from now till Wednesday. I promise you that I will not stop trying to get you to change your mind about us and I promise you to continue to pin after you, in a very obvious fashion,  and be very stubborn about it, until you accept me”.

“Even you can’t be that stubborn”.

“Ohh, you just wait love. You have seen nothing yet”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain is Roger's voice of reason, that is all I have to say.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am aware that John had a lovely sister, even if his dad passed away when he was 11. However, for the purposes of my story, it works better if it is just him and his mother. I hope you understand the artistic license I took when it comes to this topic in particular.

John couldn’t sleep.

He hadn’t been able to sleep most days since he had received the fated news of his heart condition suddenly gone wrong but he usually dozed off, for around 2 to 3 hours each night, exhaustion pulling him under even when anxiety’s clutches left finger traces everywhere on his skin.

When the previously mentioned condition didn’t choke his heart on his own blood and let him unable to catch his breath least he put himself upright, of course.

But tonight was one of those rare nights where he could actually snuggle in his bed, actually feel comfortable in his sheets, his uneven heartbeat almost familiar by now.

Maybe, his usually uncooperative mind supplied, it had something to do with the blond man sleeping on the floor of his childhood room.

Roger had insisted on staying with him, had insisted on meeting his mother before the rest of the band would the next morning, had said that he would not leave him alone, not this night, not when the next day he was going to be admitted into the hospital and face... whatever he was going to face there.

And that was the reason he couldn’t sleep, even if he felt better than most nights, Roger’s even breath soothing his nerves. 

Because bloody hell had Roger put him in a difficult spot. Because he had tried, tried and failed every day since he had confessed his feelings for him, to push the drummer away, to not let him get under his skin, to keep their relationship as the friendship it had been before... but he hadn’t been able to, not for the life of him. 

Because he was only human, and he had not lied when he had told both Freddie and Roger himself that that man was the sun and when he thought about it, he was like a flower, once on the verge of withering but now basking in the light that was being shone upon him, slowly filling the hole he had on his soul since he didn’t even know when. 

With every time Roger smiled at him, so full of fondness, dripping with tenderness, with every time he brought him tea just like he liked it or sat too close to him in the coach, casually throwing his arm around his shoulders, he could feel his inherent loneliness, an old, known friend, ease little by little.

And let him breathe, not coming back. 

If he was being honest John had to admit that the oppression of his alienation had begun lifting the moment he had meet Queen and became their bassist, Freddie and Brian doing their absolute best to include him in the band and make him feel part of it, part of them.

It had further been relived with how they had reacted to his diagnosis, with their protectiveness and their keen interest in keeping him alive. 

But what was different here, what made what Roger was doing for him cardinally different from what the rest of the band had done to this point, even though they had done an incredible amount of kindness towards him, was that the drummer had not only made him feel like he did belong somewhere, after all, but like he was worthy of being loved. 

And not only as in friendship, but in deep, romantic love. 

Because yes, he hadn’t believed Roger in the beginning, still had problems believing him now, but the evidence against his doubts was too great even for his treacherous mind to try and sabotage. 

The man was here, wasn’t he? Now, on his floor, uncomfortable but with him, preferring to be by his side than leave him and have a good night’s sleep, even if the next few days promised nothing but chairs to try and doze on. 

The drummer had also kept his promise and had taken over “baby sitting duties” for the rest of the week, skipping class and taking care of the stall for watching crappy tely with him instead, and making sure he ate right.

And finally, he hadn’t gone partying or dancing since his confession to him, and instead he had been on his door everyday, the moment his mom left the house, on time, with a big smile on his face and a hug so tight, it made him feel human, even when he couldn’t sleep through the night. 

And the truth was, he didn’t have to do any of it. The Roger he knew wouldn’t stop making music or having fun for anything that wasn’t critical. And yet, here he was. So the only logical conclusion was that... he was important to him. 

And then what he had said about love seemed more plausible, seemed suddenly real. 

If the man he loved indeed loved him back and there was proof of it, what could he do but surrender? 

He knew he had promised himself and Roger and Freddie that he wouldn’t tie the blonde to a lost cause, and he honest to God didn’t want to hurt the one person he loved the most in life with what he knew was coming their way, but the drummer was with him out of his own volition, even after so many warnings and all of his tries to push him away, so what else could he do? 

Well, he did know what he could do. And that was to survive. How just didn’t come to mind. And hence, the sleeplessness. 

“Deaky... John are you awake?” A sleepy voice, raspy, reached his ears, making him nudge towards the edge of his bed and peak downwards, towards the floor.

Roger´s face was obscured in shadows, only a sliver of light from the street light outside catching on his eyelashes. John´s eyes had been open in the darkness for long enough, however, that he could still make out most of his form with little effort. One of his eyes was closed, the other open, squinting up at him. His hair was tousled, scattered messily around his head, his right arm thrown over his forehead.

He looked so damn adorable Deaky was sure he was going to pass out from it. 

He tried to find his own voice, but had trouble bringing out. At this, the drummer incorporated on the ground, shoulders barely above his mattress, and turned to him with a grave expression suddenly on his face “Are you feeling okay? You look pale”.

“I always look pale lately genius. I’m fine” he said, getting upright too, with some trouble “You don’t have to get worried every time I don’t answer quickly”.

“Ohh but I do. It is my calling in life to make sure you are safe, remember?” And with that Roger gave him one of his most brilliant smiles, if a little sleepy, pulling at his heart strings with it. The full force of his previous reflections hit John then, and he couldn’t help but lower his face a bit, into his chest, all of his emotions weighting heavily on him.

Roger was up in his bed in a second, putting one of his arms around him tenderly “What did I say wrong love? I’m sorry…” he paused and then continued, his tone a bit lower “are you…are you scared about tomorrow?”

Deaky nodded, not trusting his voice. The drummer then enveloped him fully into his arms, and the bassist let him, resting his cheek on the other man’s shoulder and relishing on his warmth. One of the blonde’s strong hands took its rightful place in his lower back and rubbed, soothing him instantly, the other a firm presence around his neck. 

“I just don’t want to…” John began, stopped, started again, rephrasing his thoughts “I just want to stay alive and be with you. I am scared but, to be honest, not so much for me as I am for you. And in a different way for Freddie and Brian. I just don´t want any of you to get hurt and less of all if it is because of me”.

“John Richard Deacon, stop talking about other men, I am getting jealous” said Roger, and his hold on his body got tighter, if only an inch. 

“I never took you for someone possessive Roger Meddows Taylor” bickered Deaky back, happy at the change of tone in the conversation. 

The banter didn’t last long though “I’ve never been in love before…this is new to me too. But I want you to be mine. Only mine” the blonde’s tone dropped an octave as he said each word, every one of them sounding so deliberate that they sent a shiver down John’s back. 

He didn’t really have time to process what it all meant though, as Roger continued “Deaky… love, you need to sleep. You are going to need it, for… the next days. I am happy to hold you here for the rest of the night but…”  The drummer stopped death on his tracks and said nothing for a whole minute. 

John was starting to wonder what was happening when the other man shifted and started to lower them, together, into his mattress muttering “Just tell me if this is too much, if I am crossing some line here, or if your heart is not happy with it”.

When they had reached horizontal, the drummer moved so that his body was pressing from shoulder to toe with Deaky’s on the left side, both men barely fitting inside the narrow twin bed. His hand was still behind’s John’s back, his arm squished between them. Despite the fact that this position was obviously not very comfortable for him, the blonde then froze, clearly waiting for Deaky to say something. 

The bassist took a second, willing his heart, which was beating faster than it should, to quiet down and let him cuddle with Roger. When he felt a little better, he thanked whatever God existed that had let him be sick but had also managed to get the drummer to love him and then said “It’s okay Rog. I…like this”.

The drummer sighted then, relaxing, and wiggled a little to get more comfortable. He freed his arm and with it searched for John’s hand, grabbing onto it when he found it. The owner of said hand melted at the gesture, and wondered if Roger had ever been on a bed with someone without shagging them. And then he melted even more, because he realized only he got to live this. He was privileged like that.

Feeling a little bolder at the thought, he moved to his side, to face the blonde. In return for his bravado he got another sight of relief, and then he was looking at Roger straight on, their noses inches from each other, their hands still clasped together. 

The drummer’s eyes were easily seen from this angle, the light from the street hitting them directly now. And they were wide, his pupils full blown into beautiful seas of clear blue. He licked his lips and glanced down at Deaky’s, hesitating. He then put his free arm around the other man’s waist, stroking his lower back yet again. He closed his eyelids and said, in a really rough voice “I just have to say that I deserve an award for not kissing you right now. Damn you Deacon, you look gorgeous disheveled like this”.

John could only chuckle “Just give me a few weeks, maybe it will take me a few months, but there will be a moment when you will want to stop kissing me, because that is all I am ever going to let you do”.

“Ohh I will never want to stop…wait, what did you just say?” He pulled back a little and stared directly into John’s grey gaze, his own startled. 

Deaky himself hadn’t been aware of the words that had left his mouth, caught up in the moment like he had been. But then it dawned on him. He had just told Roger, if a little indirectly, that he was going to accept him, if he made it through surgery. He had actually also said he was going to make it through said procedure, with a certainty he didn’t know he had in him. 

The drummer stared at him, openly, and didn’t say anything for a long while. So long that John suddenly understood he was waiting for an answer to his question. 

He wavered a bit, recalling all he had felt and gone through in the past few days, all of the pondering he had done during that night, all he had concluded during his restless evening. 

He didn’t want to hurt Roger. There wasn’t anything in this world he wanted less. But he apparently had resolutely decided to continue to be alive so… maybe he could tell him this. And then he remembered something Freddie had told him, the day he had made him face his feelings for the man in front of him “Having love, for whatever time you can have it, is worth everything in life. I am sure, completely sure, that he would rather have that than nothing”.

One more look at the blonde’s gaze sealed the deal. 

So he cleared his throat a bit and then replied “I said that it will probably take me a few weeks or maybe months but I will be kissing you one day, soon”. 

“Does that mean that you are accepting me?” The drummer’s eyes glimmered in the gloom, the biggest, most honest smile John had ever seen from him taking over his features.

“Yes, that is what it means” he confirmed “But I have to live first, don’t forget that. No funny business until that”.

But it was like Roger hadn’t heard the last bit. He had ignored it, most likely, but Deaky couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he was being enveloped in the most encompassing of hugs, arms settling around his waist, a blonde head on his chest. 

He wrapped his own arms around the drummer, and nuzzled his face into his hair. It smelled like sunshine, and for a moment, all was right in the world. 

Sleep overtook him at a point, sweetly, Roger all around him, and he rested, for the first time in weeks. 

 

+++++++++++++

 

“So you are my son’s friends... the ones that play in that band with him?” asked Mrs. Deacon, a short, blonde lady in her mid 50’s, with a kind face and the exact same gray eyes Deaky had, if a little more lined with wrinkles.

“The band’s name is Queen ma’am, but yes, we are exactly those people” answered Freddie, firmly, but politely. 

Brian turned to glare at the singer, who only huffed and turned his face to the other side to ignore him, chin up.

Secretly, Brian was happy that even in the circumstances they were currently in, waiting on the emergency room while they took John’s blood samples to process them for whatever tests they needed to run before his surgery, the man was still defending the band, proudly and a little defiantly. 

Queen was their baby in a way, and Brian was sure that no matter what happened in the future, Freddie was always going to care about it and safeguard it, at all costs. 

Even when he didn’t need to, like now. 

Deaky’s mother was a really nice person and had obviously meant no disrespect to the band by her comment. She was just very clearly nervous, and a little disconcerted about why 3 boys she had never seen before in her life were in the hospital with her, when her only son was facing heart surgery.

Surely, reflected Brian, she thought this was a family only situation. And it was. That’s why they were there. 

They hadn’t been present when Deaky had told her about them, so he couldn’t know if she recognized just how close they all were. 

When he thought about it a little harder though, a much darker idea crossed his mind. Maybe it was John who didn’t completely get how tightly bonded they were. If he didn’t grasp how important he was to them, then, of course, he wouldn’t be able to explain it fully to his mom, so that she understood entirely. 

Brian knew Deaky was dense (he hadn’t realized about Roger’s interest in him for a whole year for God’s sake!) but he couldn’t comprehend how the man had told them, casually as if it meant nothing, to just “get another bass player” when he had become ill. 

Because there was no replacing John Deacon. 

As a bass player but most importantly, as their friend. As a member of their family. The family that was Queen.

He suddenly understood Freddie’s fierceness when protecting the name and felt a little bad for scolding him. Not that the singer cared much of course. He was currently engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Deacon about, who would have known it, his cats. 

So he turned his attention to his other friend, his best friend, the one he was most worried about.

Roger was standing just outside the door the nurses had taken Deaky in, his back resting against the wall. His shoulders were hunched, his fingers drumming rhythmically on his tight. His right foot kept tapping on the ground, starting and stopping, and Brian was sure his lip would split if he continued to chew on it like he was.

His gaze was obscured by his blonde mess of hair but the guitarist knew exactly what he would find if he peaked into it: Concern. 

Brian wasn’t used to seeing the drummer like this. He was usually so sunny, so full of confidence, that his whole distressed demeanor right now was breaking his heart. 

But it was the price Roger had to pay for love and hadn’t he been the one that had pushed him into this in the first place? To make him happy of course and avoid a pain he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear in the future. He didn’t regret his actions for a second, but it still hurt him, to see the people he cared about the most in these hard, impossible situations.

He approached Roger slowly, and placed his hands gingerly in his shoulders, not wanting to spook the man. The blonde pulled his head up to met his eyes and there it was: apprehension, but mixed with agony. 

It took him a moment to find his words after the way Roger’s feelings were so nakedly displayed on his gaze, honestly not knowing what to say to make him feel better. He had the distinct impression that whatever words he could come up with, no matter how heart felt, were always going to end up not being enough. But he had to try anyways, try and ease the sorrow he saw on the drummer’s eyes, because otherwise, his own heart might split in two.

Damn it, how he hated to be so powerless like this, so unable to do anything to help those he loved.

“Relax mate” he finally said, sounding dull even to his own ears “he is going to be fine, they are just taking his blood right now. Nothing serious is going on”.

Roger’s gaze transformed in a second and suddenly Brian was facing all the wrath he knew the petite man had inside him “That is exactly the problem! What if they are hurting him? What if they don’t know what they are doing? I swear to God Bri if they so much as touch his hair wrongly I will...”

“Rog...”

“... kill their pets!” He finished, hissing.

Brian put a little more force into the hold he had on the drummer’s shoulders and shook him lightly “Rog, please calm down. You have to trust the doctors, they know what they are doing. Your job here is to be there for Deaky, love him and keep a positive attitude. I know you want to protect him mate but right now you can’t. Not against this. What you can look after is his heart, the figurative one, which is as important if not more, than the literal one. The way you care for him now is by showing yourself strong and hopeful, so you can give him, for lack of a more elegant way to put it, strength and hope. You are his source of hope in all this...”

He was cut short by the door at their side opening. John, sitting in a wheelchair, his demeanor worn and weary, emerged, his chair being pushed by a bulky man with a serious air to him. He had black rimmed glasses, a grey mustache, and a stethoscope hanging from his thick neck. 

A doctor then. 

Deaky’s doctor by the looks of it.

The moment the bassist appeared Roger was by his side, grabbing the side of his wheelchair with such force his knuckles went white almost immediately. He blurted out bluntly “did they hurt you?”

The doctor scowled at the blonde but Deaky spoke before either of them could say anything else “I’m fine Rog. Don’t worry”. 

Mrs. Deacon, who had approached the scene with Freddie in toe, settled on the other side of her son’s wheelchair, took his hand on her own and faced the doctor, saying quietly “How is John, Doctor Osborn?” 

The doctor sighted, glancing at his patient and then back at his mother, “John is very weak I’m afraid. I’m not sure who thought it was a good idea to wait until Friday for his surgery because these spells of almost fainting he has been having are only showing us that his heart is not holding up anymore, which only means…” and he had the good grace of looking regretful at his next words “that we need to move the procedure for tomorrow afternoon, at the latest. If the results of his blood work come out as we expect of course”.

Roger went green. Freddie just turned around. Mrs. Deacon stood still and didn’t react. Well, it was clear now from where had Deaky gotten his impassiveness. John himself looked paler, if it was possible, and lost. Completely lost. 

And Brain wasn’t having that. 

So he grabbed his other hand, the one his mother wasn’t holding, and smiled at him with the biggest smile he could muster “That is better, right Deaks? That way you get the surgery over and done with faster and speed up to recovery. Before you know it, you will be fighting with Roger again over why you never want to do vocals with us”. 

John stared at the guitarrist, a doubtful, aggrieved expression on his features. He hesitated, and in those few seconds Roger seemed to recover, for he squatted next to the wheelchair, putting him at the same level Deaky was currently at, and gave him a grin that, had Brian not known him better, would have seemed genuine “And I won’t let you win. Don’t think that your heart condition is going to make me go soft on you Deacon. You will record for _Liar_ , I don’t care what I have to do to convince you”.

Freddie was suddenly there, back by Brain’s side, wearing a watery smile that betrayed what he had done the moment he had twisted to the other side. His tone however, was perfectly steady when he said “I do really want you on that track Darling, so you have to get better fast.”

John looked at them, eyes conflicted, his gaze traveling from Roger to Freddie and finally to Brian, seemingly trying to force his lips into a smile that came out as grimace instead “Yeah…that is better…I’ll get out…faster…that way”. 

He took a deep breath and then exhaled, turning to face Roger again “I won’t record for _Liar_ though”. 

“You will” replied the blonde confidently, though Brian could definitely notice the tremor in his voice “you know how convincing I can be when I want to”.

At that, Deaky did smile. A tiny, shy smile, but real all the same. 

“So it’s settled then” continued Dr. Osborn, rubbing his hands together, looking much more excited than was necessary in Brian’s opinion. 

The man then glanced downwards at Deaky “Right now we have to take you to your room John, you need some rest, but your friends can’t come with you. It’s family only”. 

Mrs. Deacon, who still held to her son’s hand steadfastly though had remained silent up to that point, angled herself so that she was holding Dr. Osborn’s gaze and said, in a calm voice “Can’t you see that these young men are my son’s brothers? They are coming with us. I am giving them clearance as family. Please treat them as you would any other brother or sister from any other of your patients”.

Freddie, Roger and Brian all turned to face Mrs. Deacon at the same time, stunned. Deaky beamed at her, the proud expression on his features the same a 5 year old would bear if his mom had just escaped the facets of a hungry lion.

Dr. Osborn was taken aback though, and stuttered “But… that can’t be done, it’s not legal”.

“You heard the lady Dear” said Freddie arching his eyebrow at the doctor and crossing his arms in front of his chest, his demeanor challenging.

The thick man looked like he was about to explode, but to his credit, took only a few moments to call the nurses with Deaky’s file, taking and writing down their names in a piece of paper before handing it over for Mrs. Deacon to sign.

“Are you sure about this?” He prompted, staring down the 3 boys positioned around John’s wheelchair. Brian was sure he was looking at their outfits and their hair and judging them for them. A part of him couldn’t blame him. What was Freddie doing wearing a fur coat at a hospital? Why hadn’t Roger thought it was a wise idea to comb his hair? The other part of him though wanted to punch the man square in the face. 

Instinctively, he reached for Roger’s arm and pulled him up to a standing position, giving his limb a warning squeeze. He was sure the drummer was thinking the same thing he was, the difference here being that he would never do it and the blonde, on the other hand, was not only likely to but was very emotional right now, and barely needed the tiniest of incentives to be pushed over the edge and into doing something irrational. 

The blonde snatched his arm from the guitarist’s hold the moment he was up though, ignoring Brian and glaring at Dr. Osborn so hard that if looks could kill, the doctor would have disintegrated on the spot.

Mrs. Deacon, entirely unaware of the little showdown, merely flourished something onto the form she had been given, before handing it back to the Doctor with a smile and a firm “Positive”.

“Thank you momma” whispered Deaky as a nurse appeared and started pushing his wheelchair in the general direction of the lifts. 

Dr. Osborn puffed, giving said nurse John’s file and instructing her “Room 145. He needs to rest, no visits after 5pm”. 

The nurse nodded, and continued on her path, Roger, Brian, Freddie and Mrs. Deacon following close behind.

The singer gave the doctor one last glower before putting his arm around Mrs. Deacon and saying “you are an absolute darling Mrs. D”.

The woman blushed slightly, looking so much like her son Brian couldn’t help but smile a little, and murmured “Call me Lily”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't give Brian's POV a whole chapter, but having John's POV about Roger as he faces heart surgery is important as well. Don't worry though, Brian will get his own chapter, eventually.
> 
> P.D. I just love the fact that Bri wrote "Fat Bottom Girls" and then "Hammer to Fall". I mean, what the hell with that man? (in the positivest sense).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my dears, the technical medical facts are obviously wonky, though I did consult with a cardiologist and did my research. The problem is, there is not that much information on how this surgery was done in the 70s. So, I'm relying on what little sources there are. 
> 
> I know it took me a bit longer to get this chapter up but to make it up to you, it is twice as long as anything I have posted before. 
> 
> I listened to "One Year of Love" while writing this, so you know who to blame for it.

The first thing Brian registered when he woke up was fear.

A gripping, encompassing despair that filled every cell of his skin, from the top of his curly set of hair to the bottom of the soles of his feet.

Then he felt exhaustion, because well, you see, he hadn’t slept that much or for that long.

After being unceremoniously kicked out from John’s room at 5 pm, they had gone for a quick bite and then spent the night on the emergency room, where people who had patients hospitalized slept when they didn’t have anywhere else to go or, like in their case, didn’t want to leave.

Lily had slept in Deaky’s room, which had only one spare bed destined to be used by the main relative of patient who occupied the place. 

It had been torture. 

And not only because the furniture available to try and snooze in were the ugliest, most uncomfortable chairs Brian had ever seen but because Roger had been up all night, basically pulling his hair out and going crazy because he couldn’t be with John and make sure he was alright. 

He had somehow gotten into his brain that something (what, he hadn’t been able to explain) would happen to him through the night and his inability to do something about it made him go from almost punching the walls to wailing in a corner for long periods of time. Freddie and Brian had taken turns looking after him, trying to calm him down by whatever means they could and failing miserably at it.

That had meant that neither of them had gotten more than 30 minutes of sleep in one stretch. 

Roger hadn’t slept at all. 

By what Mrs. Deacon had told them, Deaky hadn’t fared much better, tossing and turning all night, unable to fall asleep himself. 

When they had finally allowed them to see the bassist, at 8am in the fucking morning, the drummer had made sure the man was alright, hugged him for 10 minutes straight, gotten a hold of his hand and then fallen asleep as close to him as he was able to, the lower half of his body on a chair by his bed while his head and shoulders rested on the mattress, his face so near to the bassist’s knees they were almost touching. 

It couldn’t be comfortable, but Brian was sure the blonde didn’t care.

Deaky had gone down to the moment Roger had, giving away easily one of the reasons that had kept him up in the first place. The other one, Brian was sure, was the surgery that was looming over all of their heads. 

While the love birds slept, Dr. Osborn had come in bearing the news that John’s blood work had come out as close to good as could be expected, and that his operation was being scheduled as an emergency measure for 3pm. 

The horrific procedure could take from 6 to 8 hours, depending on the state John’s heart was in as well as how his body responded to the things being done to it, and consisted of cracking his ribs open to expose said heart, stopping it while making a machine with a name Brian couldn’t even begin to entertain pump the blood his main organ wouldn’t, and fixing his tricuspid valve by hand.

If that wasn’t horrible enough, Dr. Osborn had also made it perfectly clear that even if Deaky survived the intricate procedure, the endgame were really the hours, sometimes days after the surgery took place. 

Apparently opening someone’s chest made their lungs collapse and getting the body to work properly after two of its most vital organs underwent trauma took so many chemicals and calibrations that the risk of any other organ failing was high, very high.

So even if John made it through the operation, him dying from the aftermath was not only possible, but likely.

All of this without taking into account any other complications that could present themselves over the hours he spent in the operation room, which could range from him getting an infection to blood cloths to full on pneumonia. 

This, was the stuff of nightmares. 

Brian was incredibly happy Roger had been sleeping when the doctor had told them of all this, for he wasn’t sure the blonde would have been able to handle it. 

He wasn’t sure he was being able to handle it.

After the doctor had excused himself, leaving him, Freddie and Lily shacking in horror, they had all agreed to try and get some snooze, even if it was the middle of the morning, since they had all slept so poorly anyways and by the looks of it, weren’t going to be able to sleep properly for the foreseeable future.

Non of them had wanted to say that this was the last time they were going to be able to sleep with Deaky safe, curled on his side right in front of them, the only thing escaping the tight ball he had folded himself into the hand that was firmly grasping Roger’s. 

This was the last time they would be able to sleep hearing the bassist’s heart monitor beeping, giving them all the peace that his body was still working, that he was still alive. 

They wouldn’t have that privilege for a while. 

Besides, what the fuck else could any of them do? 

Except for waiting. And sleeping sounded like just the kind of anesthesia they all needed after hearing something so brutal, so completely earth shattering. 

Brian also thought it was the best way of giving Mrs. Deacon the time on her own that she probably needed to process everything that was going on. She had been incredibly kind to them so far but reality was, she had barely known them for 24 hours and the knowledge of what her only son was about to face was enough to bring anyone down. She deserved to have some space to grieve and well, do whatever she needed to do, without them prying. 

The guitarist had still made sure to tell her, to make it absolutely transparent to her, that she wasn’t alone, and that no matter what happened over the next few days, over the next few months, she had them, for whatever she needed.

Freddie had also pitched in saying that they loved her son and that that love was expansive to her. He had also added that like she had told Dr. Osborn before, they were family, and that that included her too.

Brian hadn’t loved Freddie more than he did at that moment. 

The stoic woman, who hadn’t more than gone pale at the explanation the doctor had delivered, had then proceeded to hug them each, individually, giving them the tight embrace Deaky sometimes gave them after he had had too many beers.

The guitarist was sure his heart couldn’t hurt more, but it did when he realized, for the second time in a day, just how similar John and his mom were. 

After Lily had gone to her corner of the room, checking her son´s monitors first and making sure he was still asleep, which he was, just as much as Roger, Freddie and Brian had claimed a spot on the floor, on the other side of the place, and had sat, shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to the wall, starting at nothing, both too riled up, worried and disturbed to try and sleep.

It had taken the singer about 5 minutes of this to start sobbing quietly into Brian´s shoulder, clearly unsuccessful at trying to play it cool. 

Freddie was always like this. He was so focused on what he wanted, so full of life and zest, that he seldom let things get to him, or at least, that was always the impression he wanted to give. Brian knew better. He knew that things did get to him, profoundly, maybe even more so than to other people, but unlike other people he was masterful at coping. He held his head up high and kept on walking. No matter what he was feeling inside. He didn´t break often. He was tough. And he had to be, given how deeply vulnerable the guitarist suspected he really was. 

He had tried hard not to let this day get to him, Brian knew it. He had done his best trying to keep a blank face when Dr. Osborn had gone into specifics, had told Mrs. Deacon that they loved her with an even voice. But he was only human. A human that had always had a soft spot for Deaky. A human that genuinely cared about Roger. A human that would be destroyed if something happened to either of them. 

And something awful was happening to both of them. 

So his shiny outside demeanor cracked. Which was nothing but understandable.

Brian had put his arm around his shoulders then, and had hold him through his sobs, saying nothing with words, because he had none, but showing him all his care and love in the firmness of his grip. 

Eventually, he had fallen asleep in his lap, the guitarist following soon after, his body giving in to emotional and physical exhaustion, even if anxiety kept a hard, relentless grip on his chest.

And that was how he had woken up now, all his body tense and afraid, hoping with all his might that he had dreamt the whole thing only to be reminded by the cold hard floor underneath him and the smell of antiseptic in the air that the nightmare that had become his current reality, was, well, very much real.

He opened his weary eyes with difficulty, taking some time to focus them. He could feel Freddie’s weight still on his lap, could hear his soft breaths coming even. So he was still asleep then. When he could finally see clearly, the first thing he did was check his watch, to see how many hours were left before the unspeakable event took place.

He figured someone had to wake up Roger and Deaky and tell them the news. He wasn’t sure he was the ideal candidate but he couldn’t see Mrs. Deacon doing it, and he wanted to protect Freddie so, it was up to him.

2 hours to go. 

They had slept a long time apparently. 

It was now then. 

The hour was upon them and he wanted to give the couple as much time as he could  to process and… say goodbye? No, he couldn’t think like that. The odds were terrible but Deaky was going to survive. He was. He had to.

With careful, however awkward movements he disentangled himself from the singer’s hold, who had placed his arm around his waist during their slumber, and propped him against the wall gently, positioning him so that he could support himself. Freddie remained asleep through out this process, not even shifting to get comfortable when Brian was done adjusting him.

Trying to be as silent as he could, the lanky man stood up, and approached Deaky’s bed. Neither of the lovebirds had moved since he had last seen them, Roger snoring lightly from his inconvenient position. 

It was an understatement to say he didn´t want to do this, but there was not point in delaying it, and with every passing second he hesitated, he was taking time away from them, time they could spend awake and together.

So, stealing himself, he approached the bed, and as lightly as he could, shook the blonde’s shoulder, whispering “Rog…mate, wake up”.

Roger stirred  slowly and as soon as his eyes focused on Brian, he straightened up completely, turning in a second to face Deaky. To make sure he was alright, the guitarist realized. The drummer took a second to stare at John and then at his monitors, before standing up and stretching as best as he could while his hand remained enveloped in the bassist´s.

Only then did he turn to look back at the guitarist.

His eyes were red rimmed. His hair was a mess. He looked like hadn’t slept in years, black bags under his eyes, lines around his very young face.

Brian gulped. He couldn’t do this.

Thankfully (or not) he didn’t have to, because Roger lowered his head after a minute or two of watching him and said, in a low voice “At what time then?”

It was the resignation in his tone, the lack of emotion that really freaked Brian out. Because the blonde was nothing if not emotional. It was what defined him in a way, what made him Roger Meddows Taylor. Brilliant drummer, bubbly, passionate, wild. And right now, looking at him, at his eyes, the guitarist saw nothing but emptiness. 

He didn’t know what he had been expecting his friend’s reaction to be to the news but he hadn’t expected this. Something along the lines of what he had seen last night maybe, the rage and the sadness. But not the wrecked man in front of him now, who looked like sorrow had burned his soul.

And it was the only reaction to have really, the only accurate way to respond to having the person you loved taken away from you after you finally got them, knowing that said person was going to face unspeakable pain, but it still took Brian aback.

It was instinct, and the tremendous affection he felt for Roger, his need to guard him against this agony, that compelled him to move from the spot he had been standing in to put his arms around his best friend. Arms that were still numb from holding his other best friend. 

Roger didn’t react, only letting himself be held for some moments before he insisted, in the same dry tone “At what time Bri?”

Brian buried his face in the blonde’s shoulder, because he couldn’t say this while facing him “3pm”.

Roger drifted back from the embrace then, effectively making the guitarist’s arms fall from his shoulders. He looked at the ground and said “I have to wake him up. I want to talk to him before…yeah. And I’m sure he wants to talk to you guys and his mom too”.

He turned, to rouse the bassist presumably, but Brian caught his shoulder in his hand before he could finish the motion “Rog, chin up. I know you feel like shit but consider this might be the… Just make sure he sees you strong.” He hesitated, knowing that what he was about to say next was not the most empathic or appropriate, but it was the only thing that still gave him a little faith that not everything might go to shit, that Deaky might still have a chance of making it. So he had to say it “Remember my science journals. He will get through this if he knows he has something to fight for, and that something is you. Give him courage by being courageous”.

Roger snorted, but it sounded more like a sob “What? I don’t look courageous?”

The guitarist shook his head.

Sighting, the blonde combed his fingers through his hair, making it a little less messy. He then stood up straight, pulling his eyes up to meet Brian’s gaze. He scrunched up his face and then smiled, a very fake smile, but at least he was trying.

“Better?” He said in a saccharine sweet tone that sounded nothing like his voice. 

“Better” answered Brian, because he couldn’t tell him the truth. He gave his shoulder a final squeeze and released him. 

Roger then turned and took a seat in the small space in the mattress between John’s body and the railing of the bed. He carded his fingers gently through Deaky’s hair, saying in a soft tone “Love…it’s time. Wake up”.

The bassist shifted and leaned closer to Roger’s touch. When he spoke, his voice was raspy “Time for what?”

Fuck.

Brian wanted to go hug Roger again but he couldn’t, so instead he took a couple steps back and put his arms around his own torso, in an effort to hold himself together, as he heard the blonde answer “Surgery is in a few hours love. I figured you wanted to talk to your mom and the guys before it happens. And I have a couple things I want to tell you myself”.

From where the guitarist was standing he could see John open his eyelids. He couldn’t see what was in his eyes though. It probably wasn’t good, because the drummer leaned in, putting his arms around his shoulders and bringing him into his chest as best he could without pulling on the million cables that were hooked to him, murmuring “it’s okay love. Everything is going to be fine. You don’t have to worry about anything. You are going to be okay. Everything will work out fine. Don’t you worry. Don’t worry. Shhhh”.

Ohh how stupidly proud he was of Roger right then, how much he felt for the damn, brave fool. 

A hand on his shoulder startled him, but it was only Freddie, who was snaking his arm around his shoulder blades. He leaned a little into him, and said nothing. Brian let his own arms fall to his sides, cherishing Freddie’s tender touch, sure was going to be the one doing the crying now.

But he couldn’t. 

Because he promised to himself, right there and then, that he was going to safeguard these people. He was going to care for them, and love them, and keep them sane through whatever came next. 

He was going to make sure that Roger and Freddie and Lily made it unscathed through the next days, so that when John woke up (God, he had to believe that he was going to) they would be in one piece and ready to love him back into health. 

That was his goal. 

And it gave him some semblance of relief, because at least he had something to do, to keep him grounded, in the mist of all the chaos that was his life. 

Deaky unfolded himself from Roger’s chest and straightened up, the drummer’s arms moving to his waist, turning to look at the rest of his band mates. Freddie, of all things, waved at him, which made the bassist chuckle. 

“Hey there” he said with the same raspy tone as before. His hair looked rather tidy, since Roger had just been combing it, making a stark contrast to his face, which was the definition of sickness. Gaunt cheeks. Gaunt eyes. But there was something in his gaze though, a warmth as he watched them, that made Brian smile at him. Because he looked genuinely happy to have them there, to see them. 

Such a different reaction from the escaping act he had pulled on them at the beginning of this mess. 

It gave Brian the comfort that perhaps they had finally gotten across to him that they cared about him, that they wanted to be here, and that he was important to them. 

He had to believed they had achieved that, for their time to show him was up. 

“Hey Deaks” answered Freddie, his own tone hoarse. 

“Where is my mom?” Asked John to the room at large.

Roger turned to look at them with an arched eyebrow, probably wondering the same.

“Ohh” whispered Brian “She is…” he turned to face the other side of the room, to the spare bed, where the woman was still laying facing the wall, her shoulders raising and falling evenly “still asleep from the looks of it. We all agreed to try and sleep a little because none of us had a nice night. After Dr. Osborn came to tell us the time for your operation John”.

Deaky strained his neck up to try and see the corner where his mom was and called out softly “Momma”.

But Lily didn’t move. 

“She is out. I know her. She sleeps like a rock. Well…I guess I will begin with you two. Can you wait outside Rog, please?”

“What?! No. I’m staying here. You are not making me leave this bed until stupid Dr. Osborn comes to pry you away from me” Roger looked sincerely offended at John’s suggestion, grabbing the railway of his bed with one hand for added affect. 

Brian breathed a little easier, seeing that Roger was acting like himself. Or at least putting a decent enough show for the others not to notice anything was off, except for what was obviously going on.

There seemed to be no trace of the hollow man he had seen just a few minutes ago. 

Another beam of pride shot through his chest realizing just how much of an effort the drummer was doing here, how much he was fighting to be strong for Deaky. 

“Rog…” mumbled the bassist, putting his hand around the blonde’s jaw “I need to tell them somethings that are just for them okay? Then you can come back in and be with me till I have to go. Yes?”

Roger shook his head and said “Not bloody likely”. 

He closed his eyes and John leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek “Please. For me”.

The drummer grunted muttering “Fucking hell” but stood up, storming past Brian and Freddie on his way outside the room. 

When the door had closed behind the blonde, John spoke a little higher “Come on over guys”.

Freddie walked closer to Deaky’s bed, his arm not leaving Brian’s shoulders. The guitarist was secretly grateful for the gesture, because it kept his knees from bucking under him. 

He had hold Freddie through his grief, and now he was holding him through his. Because that was all he could feel now. Just unadulterated misery.

When they were at the side of the bed, as close as they could get to John really, the man smiled at them, gingerly, and cleared his throat “First of all I’m so thankful for having met you guys…”

“This is not a good bye Deaky. Don’t even try it” interrupted Freddie, his tone hard. 

“It is not…but I have to tell you this. Please let me” answered John, his voice serious. 

The singer faltered, but then nodded silently.

So the bassist continued “Playing with you in Queen was the highlight of my life. An honor really. An honor I am sure I will continue to have but if I don’t… don’t look at me like that Freddie, you have to keep on going. You have to do something with the band because you are talented and have something to say to the world. You have to go out there and help the lonely boys and girls of the world, like you helped me, to feel a little more adequate. Understood. Seen”.

Brian sniffed. He was not going to cry. He wasn’t. But he was dangerously close to it. 

“Promise me you will”.

He felt Freddie nod and then proceeded to do the same, not trusting his voice.

“I know I was always reluctant to let you in, and I’m sorry. I am grasping too late what I could have had if I just trusted myself and you a little more. I will do my best to survive this, so we can really be the family you have said so many times…the family we are.”

John turned his head to face Brian “You are brilliant Dr. May. Because I’m sure you are going to get that PhD. And I’m also sure I’ll be there to see you get it. But I still have to say it, never loose that devotion you have. That honest enthusiasm you carry inside you for the little or rather big things in life. The way you are so meticulous with everything because you care so much is one of the best things I’ve ever seen. It taught me to see around me instead of only at my feet, and to actually appreciate the world, instead of ignoring it. Thank you”.

Then he turned to Freddie “And you. You are such a bright star.  I am always so happy to see you, because your energy always makes me feel strong. You made me believe in myself when I couldn’t sometimes, and you didn’t even know it. You made me entertain possibilities I never thought I could. Like with Roger, for which I will always be grateful. And I know you are absolutely certain of who you are and what you want and are determined to get it. But please be careful not to let the fire inside you burn you over” he sighted “I always wanted to be like you Fred. Maybe one day I will be. Perhaps I’ll even dance on stage”.

“You will Darling” answered the singer, chocking back tears. 

Deaky gave them both a watery smile before carrying on “I’m sure you know what comes next. Please take care of Roger. Even if nothing happens to me the next days are going to be hard on him. Please keep him eating. Keep him sane. And if something does happen to me… don’t let him go off the deep end. Don’t let him self destruct. Because I am damn sure he will try. But remind him that everything I want is for him to be happy. That’s really all I want, out of life.  So the best way to honor my life, would be for him to stand up, and carry on” he cleaned the few tears that had left his eyes quickly with his hands “I know I am asking a lot of you, but I know you love the idiot. Not as much as I do but still…”

“We will look after Roger” volunteered Brian “because we love him and we love you”.

“I love you too Guys” replied the bassist, quietly “now will you please send him in?”

 

+++++++++++++++++++

 

Roger’s fingers were bleeding.

Well, only his thumbs. 

He didn’t remember pulling at the fragile skin on their sides but now that he looked down at them, most of it was peeled back, revealing raw skin. And blood.

Deaky wasn’t going to be happy. 

He stopped on his tracks, from where he had been pacing back on forth in front of John’s room, when the door to it opened, revealing Brian and Freddie. 

They were both teary eyed. 

Fuck. Fuck a million times. Fuck. 

“Your turn Dear” said the singer, patting his shoulder lightly. 

“Remember Rog, be brave. You can punch us after but with him…” said Brian in his most serious voice.

Roger knew the man only wanted to help him and he had, giving him a push in the right direction just some minutes ago, when he had reminded him that his state of mind influenced Deaky’s, but this was the second time in the day he had told him to act a certain way and he just wasn’t having it.

Anger blinded him as he almost screamed “I know Mom!”.

He regretted it a second later.

Because he really didn’t want to lash out at Brian. Unfortunately his friend had just been an easy target at which to throw all of the emotions that invaded him right now, that threatened to choke him. 

Uncertainty, at what was up ahead.

Pain, at knowing what John was about to face.

But mostly fear. Of losing him, of never seeing him again. 

It was a weird dance his feelings had been doing lately, ever since they had arrived at the hospital. One moment, all he could do was feel, every one of his emotions so intense, so heavy on his chest, that he didn’t know how he hadn’t exploded yet. Or maybe he had, several times, through the night. 

And then, when he was about to go insane with overwhelm, his chest went empty. He felt barren, the only thing left inside his ribcage a dull ache, and the glowing love he had for Deaky, which had only intensified to the point of torture since he had been able to be with the man, hold him, touch him. 

He was positive he was going insane.

But that was not Brian’s or Freddie’s fault. Rather, they had been there for him through it all, and he was thankful, for they had kept him a little more stable than he was sure he would have been on his own. They were always looking out for him really, and didn’t deserve his rage at all. 

Feeling honestly mortified for his behavior towards his best friend, he fumbled with his words, looking for the right thing to say to Brian that conveyed all of his regret and gratefulness at the same time and only coming up with “I’m sorry Bri.”

The guitarist, bless his heart, didn’t make a fuss about it, and rather answered with a simple but effective “It’s okay Rog. I understand. Go on in, don’t keep him waiting”. 

The blonde nodded, cleared his throat a bit, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. 

Deaky’s deep grey eyes looked up at him from where he had been staring at his lap and then smiled. It was a sad smile but a smile nonetheless. Roger prayed to his mind to please store each and everyone of the man’s features, to etch the lines of his face and the curve of his mouth into his memory. 

He pleaded to his brain to please remember every moment that was coming, to tattoo it into his skin, for he didn’t know when, or if, he was going to get another.

He tried to bat this knowledge away from his consciousness but it grew like a dark cloud, in the background of his mind. 

Remembering Brian’s words (fuck, he really did owe him shit) he walked over to John’s bed, trying his damn hardest to smile back at him.

When he reached his bed, he resumed his previous position at his side, legs hanging from the mattress, hip to hip with the bassist. Said man took his hands on his own and frowned automatically. 

Fuck, he had forgotten about that.  

“What did you do to yourself?” said Deaky in a stern tone, examining the blonde’s fingers with a light touch.

Roger didn’t know what to answer, so he only mumbled “It doesn’t even hurt”.

“I don’t care if it doesn’t hurt, you cannot do this to yourself” and John was mad, as he had expected. This was the last time they might be together and the blonde had managed to make his love upset.

He was an idiot. 

“I’m sorry Deaks, I just…It just…fuck” he fisted his hands hard, taking them away from John and turning around. 

“Hey” said the bassist, raising his tone a little “Don’t”. 

Then he reached out with his hand, curling his fingers around Roger’s chin, and pulled his face back to him “You cannot do this to yourself, okay? You just can’t. Rog…I need you to promise me you will take care. With this little things but with the big ones too. I won’t be able to go into surgery in peace unless I get a promise from you that you will be fine. Whatever happens”. John’s voice had gone into a soft whisper, all the anger evaporated from it. 

Roger just shook his head “I will never be fine unless you are too. So then you promise me you will be fine, and I will be”.

It was Deaky’s turn to turn around “You know it doesn’t work like that, even if I want it to. Rog, please. I can’t face what’s coming if I am not sure you will be alright. This was always my greatest concern with all this, remember? Having you hurt because of me. This is why I didn’t want to accept you in the first place. But I did. And now, for my troubles, I need you to assure me that you will be okay. Through the operation, if I go to the ICU, and for the rest of your life if something does happen to me. I need to know you will fight for yourself. And won’t go doing this things” John angled himself to face him again, took his hands on his own, and stroked his thumbs lightly over Roger’s.

The drummer considered his next words carefully, for he didn’t want to lie to Deaky, but couldn’t tell him the full truth either. Because he knew that if John died he would be ended. He was certain of it. He couldn’t go making a commitment to the man he loved knowing he was going to brake it.

His chest constricted by this truth, he managed to say “I can promise you that I will love you. If you go the ICU and for the rest of my life, whatever happens. And I can promise you that I will honor that love, with all that I have” he heaved, trying to pull back his tears. 

He could hear Brian’s voice in the back of his head telling him to be strong, to be brave. But he couldn’t. The dark cloud of his mind, the one reminding him that this was real, that these might be the last moments he ever spent with the one person he had loved in the whole of his life, grew into an enormous shape, overtaking all of his senses.

He couldn’t breathe. 

He felt all his strength burning, leaving him only with a desperation that clogged his veins, that smothered him. 

He struggled, trying to keep his emotions in check and finding himself completely at their mercy. 

Suddenly, he felt his tears on his face. And then, he broke down,  hard, ugly sobbing into Deaky’s hospital gown.

The bassist hugged him as best as he could, his arms held back by medical devices, as Roger mumbled into his chest, despair dripping from each of his words  “I just cannot go on with out you! Don’t ask me to do it because I won’t. I simply can’t. Not with this stupid love I have for you, that has taken over every one of my thoughts, of my cells, of every fucking part of me, of my life. What will I do with this love Deaky? What will I do with my stupid heart if you die?”

He pulled himself from John’s embrace, to look at him straight in the eye “Don’t you dare leave me Deacon. Don’t you fucking dare leave me here alone”.

Deaky was crying too, almost as hard a Roger was, so his voice was a wobbly mess as he said “I won’t leave you alone. I won’t. I don’t know what I will have to do but I will do it. I will come back to you. And then we will both be fine”.

He sniffled, looking just as broken as the drummer felt.

“You want me to be okay? You want me to fight for myself? Then fight for you. For your life”.

“I will” the bassist answered, in a whisper, resting his forehead against Roger’s. The blonde put his arounds around his waist then, holding him as close as possible, smelling his hair, taking in the texture of his skin on his own, carving into every crevice of himself how it felt to have Deaky alive, and well, and with him. 

For a second, he let himself imagine that nothing was wrong, that they were just two regular people in love, sharing a moment together.

It only lasted for a few minutes, but it abated the darkness inside of him, lifting the fog of his agony, if only a little.

Eventually, John pulled back from the embrace, inhaling deeply “I still need you to promise me you will take care these days. You will let Freddie and Brian feed you. You won’t go hurting yourself. In any way. For me?”

“You know, I always thought you were so innocent Deaky. And I was so wrong. Because you have been using that _for me_ with the flourish of a devil through out today” said Roger, half joke, half truth, wiping his face with his sleeves “Because you know, don’t you? You know I would do anything for you”. 

Deaky smiled when Roger proceeded to clean his face, once he was done with his own “Except living without me”.

“Except living without you” repeated the drummer. He hesitated, pondering if he could really do as he was being asked and concluding that if he could convince himself that John was going to make it through his operation, maybe he could. Begrudgingly but at least he was going to try “Okay then. For you.”

“Thank you” replied Deaky with relief. Then he turned his gaze to the floor, looking guilty “I don’t want to do this, but time is running out and…I need to talk to my mom. Can you please wake her up and wait outside?”

“No” replied Roger automatically, lacing his finger’s with the bassist’s. John waited in silence until the blonde finally said “okay. Don’t _for me_ me again”.

He stood up, but Deaky’s hand remained on his own, tugging him slightly back.

He turned around to face him. 

“I love you too Rog. Very fucking much”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I promise, next one is the surgery.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The science is wonky again my friends, bear with me, it's for dramatic purposes.

Freddie had thought he knew Roger.

He was sure he did, since he worked with him, was in a band with him, spent most of waking time talking, fighting, laughing with him.

They were practically attached by the hip and though Freddie knew Brian thought of Roger as his best friend and the blonde was in a sort of relationship with Deaky, he was sure none of them knew his moods, his reactions, his personality, quite as well as he did.

Because they had always been connected, him and Roger, in a way that only people with such similar personalities, with so much in common, could. They had banded together from the beginning, both so adamant in enjoying life, so in love with it, so filled with energy, natural performers, untamable and wild by design.

Inside their skins the singer knew the blonde and him were made of the same substance: a dash of glitter, a lot of drama, big ass hearts, mad drive and a lot of attitude. 

Roger’s crazy matched Freddie’s crazy, and though this meant they sometimes drove each other up the wall, having screaming matches that made even-tempered Brian and peace-looking Deaky turn and run the other way, it also meant that they had a bond the singer was sure neither he or the blonde had with anybody else.

And that was exactly why it had been such an absolute shock to him when the impulsive, emotional, prone to bouts of uncontrolled anger and screaming drummer had simply gone cold, numb, unresponsive, the moment John was taken to surgery.

Because ever since that fated moment when Dr. Osborn had gone to the bassist’s room to take him away from them, the man Freddie thought he understood, the man he loved as a brother, had transformed from his best friend to an empty shell of what had once been Roger Meddows Taylor.

His eyes had gone shallow, their usual sparkly blue turned lackluster light grey. His usual kineticness, which made him drum his fingers constantly and made rhythm second nature to him, was gone, leaving behind a barren soul that had walked with heavy steps from Deaky’s room to the closed doors of the O.R. and taken residence there, his back to the wall, his hair covering his face, his hands motionless at his sides. 

No fidgeting, no tapping his foot in sequences on the floor like Freddie knew he did when he was nervous.

Nothing. 

For close to six hours. 

He hadn’t even gone to the bathroom.

It was as if all life had been sucked out of him and in a way, Freddie supposed that was exactly what had happened, since his heart, figuratively but almost literally as well, had been taken away from him and was in an operating table, fighting to remain alive. 

It didn’t make his reaction any less scary or disconcerting though, and it had freaked out Brian just as much as it had him.

So after they had made sure Lily was alright, leaving her sitting with a sandwich and some tea in the waiting room designated for the O.R., they had gone to Roger’s side and had tried to get him to sit, eat something, drink some water, tea, have a cigarette, or at least answer their questions in more than nods or shakes of his head. 

Each of their attempts had failed, no matter how much they begged, threatened, tried to reason with him, whispered or even screamed.

Finally and as a desperate attempt to get him to react after hours of unresponsiveness, the singer had mentioned to the blonde that if he didn’t let them feed him, he would be effectively breaking the promise he had made John before he had been taken to surgery.

It had been a low blow, sure, but it had done the trick, for the drummer had went with them and Mrs. Deacon to the cafeteria then to get some Earl Grey and biscuits.

God, had that backfired. 

Because it had taken the drummer about 5 minutes of nibbling on the tasteless crackers for him to stand up and head to the bathroom, throwing up, on and off, for the better part of an hour. 

Freddie was sure he was just puking vile by now, for there couldn’t possibly be anything left on his stomach of the two tiny bites he had taken of the cookies. 

And that was how he had ended up where he was now, leaning against the cold tiles of a horrible green hospital bathroom, Brian pacing back and forth in front of him, wondering how much he had actually known Roger to begin with and hitting himself in the head for not being able to see this coming. Maybe not the emotionlessness, but at least the throwing up. 

How had he been so stupid as to force Roger into something he didn’t want to do, when he himself knew how he reacted when people did that to him?

If they were indeed as similar as he thought they were, Freddie should have predicted that by instinct the blonde wasn’t going to take being coerced into anything, even if it was for his own good, well and in one way or the other, no matter how impassive he was, he was going to end up rebelling.

This was all his fault. 

He had been the one to tell the drummer about his promise to John after all, which had ended them all in the miserable position in which they were now.

His intentions had been good, and he knew that, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just failed Deaky, Roger and Brian, by not being able to take care of the blonde properly, known how to support him, what to tell him, what to fucking do to make sure he was alright, or at least as alright as he could be given the circumstances. 

He had done exactly the opposite of what he had guaranteed John he was doing to do actually, because Roger was as far away from sane as he had ever seen him and was doing the exact opposite of eating right then and there. 

He was failing so hard at protecting the ones he cared about, he realized, as he glanced up at Brian’s face, who even as he walked listlessly around the green room looked on the brink of tears, doing such a terrible job at keeping his family safe, that he couldn’t bear it. 

All of his intentions, his actions, his ideas, had been, without a shadow of a doubt, not good enough. They hadn’t achieved what he had wanted, they hadn’t gotten him the result he had expected. It was such an unfamiliar feeling, this knowing that all he had done hadn’t been sufficient. Nothing he had ever expected to feel, certainly, being Freddie Fucking Mercury. Never before had he felt like so powerless, so vulnerable, so utterly unsure of himself. 

He guessed this was how insecurity felt. Like if you had holes in your skin that allowed salt to poison your bloodstream, making you feel as if everything you did, everything you thought, everything you were wasn’t even close to adequate. 

He found himself hating the feeling and trying to stifle it, push it away, but it wouldn’t give. Just as it started to spread from his chest all the way to his finger tips a toilet flushing startled him. 

Brian stopped walking in front of him and both of them turned to look as Roger, looking slightly green and very sweaty, came out from one of the stalls. 

He walked weakly, as if every one of his steps took an incredible amount of strength and will power out of him, to one of the sinks, and rinsed his mouth with water, splashing some of the cold liquid in his face. 

Once he was done, he let his head hang low between his shoulders, his hands holding firmly on to the bathroom furniture at either side of his hips.

He looked like he was going to collapse and Freddie had to hold himself back from running to his side to hold him up. 

“You can’t keep up like this Rog” he said, before he could stop himself, meaning so many things with the phrase. 

He found his self - doubt drowning in his worry for his friend, fear for the well being of the drummer overriding him and taking over each and every one of his cells. 

It took Roger a moment to reply, a moment in which Brian and him exchanged anxious looks, but eventually the blonde mumbled back “Fuck off”. 

It had no real bite to it, no intent, no energy. It was an empty phrase. Void like the man who had uttered it. 

Brian was clearly done with the blonde’s attitude, besides himself with concern, every one of this emotions imprinted in the way his voice wavered as he said loudly “You can send us to fuck off as much as you want mate, as long as we do something before you dehydrate”. He moved to where the drummer was and placed a big hand on his shoulder “Fuck Rog, I get that you are worried and that this sucks but you can’t let yourself get run down like this. Come on”.

When the blonde failed to answer for a reasonable amount of time, Freddie walked to his other side and carefully, gingerly, rubbed his forearm with his fingers, letting all of his apprehension leak into his sentences, hoping to achieve what the guitarist hadn’t “Roger. This isn’t funny Dear. Something is honestly going to happen to you if we don’t get some fluids inside of you soon”. 

He hesitated, hoping for a reaction he didn’t get. Just as he was racking his brain for something else to say to convince the drummer, Brian uttered the phrase he had been thinking about but had refrained from saying, having learned from his previous mistake “What will we tell Deaky when he wakes up to find that you ended up on an I.V. under our care huh?”.

The silence that followed the guitarist’s words was deafening in its loudness, because fuck, Brian couldn’t have said something worse at the moment if he tried. 

Freddie found himself bracing for whatever came next, knowing it was bad. 

A full minute passed without any of them saying anything further before Roger whispered “Nothing”. 

The blonde started shacking under the singer’s palm, just before he turned around abruptly, pushing his friends away from him as he screamed “you will tell him nothing because he will be dead!”

And then, he collapsed to the floor, his knees buckling under him. 

Freddie and Brian were by his side, on the cold, dark stone of the ground, in a second. The drummer was practically howling, having gone from 0 to 60 in the time he had taken to reach the floor. The singer took hold of his head and placed it on his chest, carding his fingers gently through his badly bleached hair, while the guitarist took to his back, rubbing soothing circles in it.

“He is going to die” stammered the blonde between sobs “it’s almost time for them to tell us how the surgery went and I can not do this! I can not face this, I can’t face a world were he isn’t alive and well and arguing about tea with me! I am such a stupid coward but I don’t want to know how he came out. The possibilities just hurt. Too. Damn. Much”.

“Shhhh” whispered the singer into his head, rocking him softly, not knowing what else to do or say. Because he couldn’t tell him it was going to be okay, couldn’t tell him to calm down or even to be strong for John now, he couldn’t, not when what he had on his hands were the pieces of what had once been his best friend, tearing themselves apart over and over and over again.

“I can’t go on without him guys. I can’t” continued the drummer into Freddie’s fur coat “he asked me too, but I just can’t”.

“You won’t have to” answered Brian and the singer saw the tears that had been welling up in his eyes start spilling as he lifted his gaze “you won’t have to because he will come out fine”.

A knock on the door of the bathroom froze them all to their spots. 

Because only one person would do that, knowing they were there, instead of coming right in: Mrs. Deacon. Probably baring the outcome of John’s surgery given how long they had been in there.

The singer turned to look at the two people who were sharing the bathroom floor with him, these two humans who along with John and Mary made up his whole world. He saw their red rimmed eyes and their puffy faces and decided he was going to protect them now, where he hadn’t been able to before, by opening the door and biting the bullet of what was coming himself.

So he shuffled, giving his lap full of Roger to Brian, who hugged him protectively, and stood up on wobbly legs.

When he opened the door his heart and his courage fell to the floor. Because it was indeed Lily. But she didn’t look any different from when they had left her, some hour ago in the cafeteria, hurrying after Roger and mumbling apologies to her in their wake. 

She was carrying a plastic cup and some pills in her hands. 

When Freddie failed to produce any noise the woman said, in that quiet tone of hers “Is Roger still feeling ill?”

Not trusting his voice, the singer nodded. 

“Okay. I brought him some ginger tea, which helps with nausea, and some pills” she looked sheepishly to the floor and added “I get stomach cramps and nausea when I get nervous too, you see? This usually help me. They should do the trick for him too”.

Freddie’s words came out raspy as he muttered “thank you Mrs. D. You are truly the best” he took the items from the petite woman’s hands and ventured into scary territory as he began “Do you have...”

But he couldn’t finish, for Lily took pity on him and shook her head “not yet, but soon” she turned to glance at her watch and then straight to the singer’s eyes “Sort Roger out. He needs to be presentable for when John comes out because even if they will take him to the ICU, we will be able to see him, even if it’s just for a few minutes. I already arranged it with Osborn”. 

She faltered, paused and then went on “it will be just us for the first days my boy, I’m sorry. But I’m sure you understand why that is. You and Brian will be able to see him when he comes out of the ICU”.

Freddie almost didn’t catch what Mrs. Deacon was implying at first, not being able to see past the confidence the woman had in the fact that Deaky was going to live. But then it hit him. She knew about John’s and Roger’s relationship (or whatever it was). 

He wondered if the bassist had told her or if she had just figured it out on her own. Either way, the fact that she had gotten through the trouble of getting the drummer permission to see her son when he came out of his operation spoke volumes of her support and acceptance, of both Roger and of his son being gay.

Freddie had known from the first time that the woman had defended them from the horrible, snarky Dr. Osborn, that she was special, just as her son was, but now he saw her under a whole different light. 

Somewhere inside his body his heart ached to get the same love, the same approval from his mother. But for what?

“There is nothing to be sorry for Lily. What you already did is amazing and I thank you, from Rog’s part. I’m sure it will make a world of difference for him to be able to see John” he turned his head slightly back to catch Brian’s anxious face in the mirror as he held the drummer close and waited for whatever news Freddie would bring, and then twisted back to meet her gaze “We will make sure he is in an... adequate condition to do so”.

“Thank you” she said, bowing her head a little “I’ll see you boys back at the waiting room. Don’t take long”.

“We won’t” replied the singer, closing the door behind him.

“What happened there?” said the guitarist, his tone anxious, as soon as Freddie was kneeling on the floor next them again. One of his arms was covering half of Roger’s head and the other was placed on the blonde’s waist. The drummer was drawn up impossibly close to Brian’s chest, his head underneath the taller man’s chin, his eyes closed but still damp from tears. 

“No news” replied the singer quickly, not wanting to draw out the waiting of his friends for more than what was strictly needed. 

Brian let out a heavy sight and Roger opened his eyes, twisting a little to face Freddie “Then?”

The singer placed the steaming cup he was carrying next to his feet and then put one of his hands next to the guitarist’s own, a little upwards towards the blonde’s shoulder blades “Your mother-in-law brought you ginger tea and pills for your stomach, so you can get yourself together because once Deaky gets out of surgery you will get you only privileges to see him”. 

Brian’s eyebrows went all the way up to his curly fringe at Freddie’s words and the singer couldn’t tell if it had been because of the information that he had given them or his wording of such data.

Roger didn’t seem to register anything past “I’m going to get to see him?”

He detangled himself from the guitarist’s embrace and straightened up, cleaning his face with his sleeves.

“Yes dear” answered Freddie tenderly “but first you need to take this okay?” he passed over the tiny capsules to the blonde’s waiting hands and then the plastic cup which remained near his boots “and then finish this tea without throwing up again”.

The drummer nodded and put the pills into his mouth eagerly, like a child who had just been told that he got to go to his favorite place on the condition that he ate all of his vegetables. 

“Woah Rog” interrupted Brian, stopping the blonde from gorging the whole cup of tea in one swing “easy there. Take tiny sips. See how that agrees with your stomach”.

Roger frowned at the guitarist but refrained from further comment the moment the curly haired man glared at him.

It took the drummer 10 minutes to finish drinking his tea. While he did so, he angled himself so that his back was laying on top of Freddie’s chest, his legs on Brian’s lap.

The mental image that Freddie had had just minutes ago about Roger being a kid returned to him, because he was essentially acting like a child now. One that had been scared beyond reason and needed reassurance and love.

The singer much preferred this version of the drummer to the empty one he had had earlier. Because this one he knew. It wasn’t the first time Roger had gone full comfort seeking oversized cat on him, searching for his soothing touch. It usually happened when the blonde was drunk up to his eyeballs and regretting what he had done while being under the influence. Those had been the times Freddie had gotten to see the huge heart that the man hid so well behind his rock and roll persona, because it was when his defenses went down practically to zero.

He wondered briefly if Brian had ever seen their friend like this and found himself wishing he hadn’t. 

Because if he didn’t, then maybe he did know Roger better than any of them after all. 

He stroked the drummer’s bicep for another 5 minutes, the guitarist tapping gentle patterns into the blonde’s jeans. 

When another 5 went by without Roger puking, Freddie helped him and Brian stand up, cleaning the bottom of his trousers with his hands.

“I look like shit” said the blonde as he glanced at himself in the mirror. Yeah, realized Freddie, his heart leaping a little in his chest, this was the Roger he knew. He was coming back to them, thank God. 

“A little Darling” he answered honestly, exchanging relief filled glances with Brian.

Roger shook his head slightly and went to get a paper towel to clean his face when he froze mid movement “Wait, did you call Lily my mother-in-law?”

The guitarist folded his arms in front of his chest and turned to face Freddie “I need an explanation for that one too mate”.

The singer just shrugged his shoulders and decided to cut straight to the point “she knows about you and Deaky’s....”

“Relationship” filled in Roger.

“Yeah, about your relationship. I don’t know if John told her or how did she find out but she made it clear to me that she is in the know. That is why she got you special permission to see him, along with her. Bri and I don’t get such privileges”.

“To be fair you would have to be blind not to realize that Rog and Deaky are in love” said Brian, a clearly involuntary smile growing on his otherwise tired looking face.

Roger ignored the guitarist comment and walked over to Freddie, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him a little “you have to tell me everything that she told you. Was she disgusted? Bothered? Did she say something to suggest she didn’t approve of us at all?”

Seeing the blonde’s expressive blue eyes on his again made Freddie’s body relax little by little. Because they were back to being the strongest, clearest blue the singer had ever seen. What he had in front of him was normal, run of the mill Roger. The singer’s worry that he might go back to catatonic or throwing up eased a little in his chest.

“On the contrary Darling. She sounded pretty okay with it. I won’t say she was beaming with joy but well, we all know now from where did Deaky got his impassiveness. But hey, she went and convinced Dr. You-Are-Not-Family to let you see him. I’m sure that is her way of showing her support for you two”.

Something flashed in the drummer’s eyes in that second, and then he lowered his head and his arms along with it, staring back at the ground. Again. Bollocks “if he gets out alive. I just remembered, how could I be so stupid? How could I block it out for so long? After all that just happened? I only get to see him if he comes out from the damn operation at all”.

Fuck. Freddie had claimed victory too early. The anguish on his chest returned full force as Brian said, sounding on the verge of hysterics “No Rog, not again! Please don’t go zombie on us again mate!”

Freddie interjected before the guitarist said something he would later regret “What Bri means is that you can’t go back to being on the edge of insanity Dear” okay that hadn’t come out right, so the singer tried to fix it quickly as the drummer picked up his face to look at Freddie with an unreadable expression “no, no, no, what we both want to say is that you have to be prepared now to see John when he gets out of surgery, because he will. You have to be prepared to show him your best self, your hopeful self, the self he feel in love with”.

Roger didn’t say anything as he twisted his neck from one side to the other to gaze at his friend’s faces. Biting his lip, he whispered “I’m sorry” and then louder “I’m sorry I made you worry. I’m sorry if I acted crazy but this has been far too much. I always knew it was going to be hard but this past six hours... not seeing him….not knowing how he is or if I am ever going to see him again... I couldn’t handle my emotions…fuck”.

Brian and Freddie thought the exact same thing for they both stepped up to put their arms around Roger. Their arms snaked together and suddenly, they were all in one big group hug.

The singer let himself be held as much as he held his friends, letting the warmth of their bodies sink into his own. 

He felt the holes on his skin, the ones he had found earlier that day along with his insecurity, sting, reminding him that he wasn’t good enough for these people who smelled so much like home because he hadn’t been able to care of them.

But then Roger said and his voice sounded firm enough “Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you Fred for saying what I needed to hear in order to get me eating, even if my nerves ended messing everything up. Thank you Bri, for making me react when I couldn’t find the way out of the fog myself. Thank you lads for being here for me. I couldn’t have done this without you”.

The guitarist gave the singer a silent nod, from where he was on the other side of their embrace, mouthing without sound “Thank you”. Then, drummer put his head on his shoulder, reaching with his arms around his waist.

And that was all it took, for Freddie could feel the salt leaving his wounds, could feel them getting smaller.

Maybe his actions hadn’t been so wrong. Maybe this situation was too big for any of them to claim responsibility of the others on their own. Maybe he had just been scared, so scared at not being able to protect his tiny pack of weirdos. Maybe, even if he had screwed up and not known what to do, he was good enough. His actions were clearly sufficient for the people he cared about, if their reactions right now were any indication. 

In the end, he decided, as he mouthed “Thank you too” back to Brian, it didn’t matter. Judging himself, or any one else, was a silly endeavor, for who could say what was wrong and what was right? How much power could your actions really have if you were only one tiny individual in a world so full of chaos?

They, Roger, Brian, Lily, John, himself, were doing the best they could dealing with the circumstances that were handed to them, and that was really all they could do. All anyone could ask from them. 

There was no scale of doing enough or being enough, no real measure of worthiness or personal value, it was all made up, all in his head.

So from now on, he decided, whenever the holes in his skin prickled, he would remember this moment and tell them to kindly fuck off.

A nurse poked her head through the door of the bathroom just then, cutting their moment in half, and said “Dr. Osborn asked for you in the waiting room”, disappearing just as quickly as she had come in. 

“God. It’s here” said Brian, voicing what they all felt. 

Freddie could sense the blonde go rigid in front of him, so he closed the hug with his arms again, bringing them all closer together, and said into the space between them “We can do this. You are not alone Rog. We are here with you. You are not alone”.

“We’ve got you” confirmed the guitarist. 

“We should get going” croaked the drummer, pulling away from them. He went to the mirror again, fixed his hair, scrubbed his face with the paper towel he had discarded earlier and then exited the room without looking back, his steps fast.

Brian and Freddie almost ran out after him, catching up with the blonde until they had reached the infamous cream-walled waiting room.

Dr. Osborn was there, standing in front of Mrs. Deacon, wearing scrubs, a deep frown on his face “There you are!” He growled as soon as they arrived. 

Lily appraised Roger for a moment before linking her arm around his and drawing him close. The blonde put up no resistance, scooting closer to the lady.

Freddie found himself at a loss of what to do, so he put his hand on Brian’s out of impulse. The guitarist squeezed his fingers reassuringly and the singer found he could breathe a little better. 

When had he stopped breathing? He had no idea.

“So” started Dr. Osborn, his tone matter of fact “the surgery was more difficult than we expected. John’s valve was very blocked. My team and I don’t understand how he survived as long as he did. We did all we could to get it as free as possible but there is no telling right now if it will be enough. We will have to wait and see how his body adapts to the new blood flow.”

“So how is he?” blurted Roger, his face paler than it had been a minute ago.

Dr. Osborn faltered “He lost a lot of blood, much more than it is advisable. We had problems making his heart beat again and detected no impulse for breathing on his own once we tried to restart his lungs. This is not unheard of, but it is not common either. He was very weak so we decided to” he looked directly at Lily as he said this “put him in an induced coma. So that we could hook him to a respirator”.

Brian gasped.

“We will test his lungs for responses every hour and be incredibly careful so that he doesn’t get any infections. Which means none of you, and by none I mean not even you Lily, will be able to see him. You have to understand though, we are doing all we can to give John’s body the chance to heal”.

“What are the odds then, Dr?” asked Roger, his voice so steady it rang alarms inside Freddie’s head.

The man sighted “there is no telling right now. But this is not the most positive of outcomes. Certainly not what we expected. It all depends on how his body responds to treatment. We will have a clearer picture as the hours go by. I’m sorry I can’t give you better news, but you should prepare yourselves for every possible scenario”.

And with that, he turned around, leaving 4 heart broken people in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears, I´m so sorry I haven´t been posting as often as I used to, but life has been incredibly busy lately.
> 
> As you already know but I still want to make clear, all the science is wonky and though I´ve researched, everything is tweaked to serve the dramatic purpose of the story. 
> 
> Thank you all for your support and comments, they mean the world to me.

Hospitals were cold.  
  
Or maybe the cold came from inside of him, he wasn’t sure.  
  
All he knew was that there was a chill in his bones, a chill that no matter how much hot tea he drank or how many blankets Lily, Brian and Freddie brought him, tucked him under, wouldn’t leave him.  
  
His chest felt empty, but not like it had before John came out of surgery. It was a different feeling, because it wasn’t as if all he had inside of him had been vacated, no. It was more like if a black hole had taken residence just between his ribs, where his heart had been, and now that lack of gravity sucked at everything that had once been him.  
  
He wasn’t him.  
  
He was not sure who he was.  
  
He could vaguely remember his life before the hospital. All the partying, all the drinking, all the girls, the boys. If he had more energy, or could feel something, he might feel regret over wasting so much of his time in stupid things instead of using every single moment he had had since meeting Deaky loving him, listening to him, understanding him, worshiping him.  
  
All he had of the man now where his memories, and they weren’t enough. They would never be, though they kept playing on his mind in repeat over and over again, the only thing keeping him sane.   
  
They were his life jacket in a way, his life line and though they couldn’t chase away the cold inside him, they were the only thing the black hole wasn’t able to take away. And so, they were providing him with a temporary identity, since he couldn’t remember who he was or had been.  
  
Of one thing he was certain though, the Roger he had been before, that had ignored his affection for Deaky because he couldn’t, wouldn’t bring himself to face the depth, the realness of the love he felt for the bassist, was death.  
  
He had been killed the moment he had kissed John, given his final breaths as he held the man close to his chest and knew how it felt like, on his flesh, to have him on his arms, to have his smile directed at him.  
  
His existence was now easily divided, before Deaky and after.   
  
Before he had been utterly lost, wanting to drown all he felt in booze and cigarettes, only caring about getting satisfaction as easily as he could, numbing out his heart, which ached and pained all the time because he felt too much, always, since he had been a kid.   
  
He had always been told he was too emotional and that that was something he had to be ashamed of. That it made him weak somehow, that it made him immature and silly.   
  
As is feeling made you less intelligent or capable or functional.   
  
He had never understood why that was as a child, but had accepted it nevertheless, trying to put up a stronger front whenever his mother made comments about his sensitivity, telling him to _grow up_ or _get a thicker skin_.   
  
But he had failed, because being passionate was simply who he was. Denying it, trying to stifle it, was like trying to cut out his right hand and then acting as if that was the way he had been from the beginning.   
  
So instead of attempting to be strong and rational, to be even headed and mature (like Brain and Deaky were, when he thought about it), he had tried to suffocate his _hysterical_ , _temperamental_ , _hot-blooded_ self in whatever could ease his intensity, namely whatever addiction he could get his hands on.   
  
It made it easier, dulled out how much it hurt. Even if it still pained him when Freddie called him a drama queen or Brain complained about his mood swings.   
  
But that had been before.  
  
Before Deaky, who had called him sunshine just a week ago. Who always commented on just how passionate he was about everything, who seemed to admire him for it. Who listened to him with interest and smart replies whenever he rambled endlessly after gigs about what they had done wrong and right, who was always the one sent to calm him down after an argument because he was the only one who could actually get to him when he was agitated, not throwing adjectives or complains at him but rather paying attention to what he had to say, reasoning with him until he cooled off.  
  
After John, he had come to embrace his emotions, merely because he hadn’t been able to run away from them anymore. His love for the man, once acknowledged, was too great, too strong, had cut down all his coping mechanisms, and slapped him in the face.  
  
All of his previous feelings had been strong but he had known nothing, nothing as intense as his love for John.  
  
That was why he had shoved it to the side since the beginning, because it demanded him to feel. Demanded him to be vulnerable, to put his emotions in the game and confront them, confront himself and that kid he had once been and see him under a new light. Under the light of Deaky’s eyes, accepting him, looking up at him, loving him.   
  
He was not sure he was ever going to go back to a world where he wasn’t cold. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to vanish the black hole from inside his ribs but if he ever did, if by some miracle Deaky pulled some breath on his own, he knew he was going to build his new self on the foundation of his love for John.   
  
Of understanding that his feelings weren’t the enemy, but rather were an instrumental part of him, that made him who he was. Fiery, spirited, crazy Roger Meddows Taylor, who being like that had earned the love of brilliant, wise, kind John Richard Deacon.  
  
If Deaky pulled through of course.   
  
Which wasn’t looking likely.  
  
He pulled his blanket around his shoulders, trying to cover all of himself in it and then took a sip of his now lukewarm tea. The plastic, uncomfortable, orange chair from where he hadn’t moved for the past 7 days except to go the bathroom, shower and change creaked underneath him, attracting some side way glances of the other families with whom they shared the waiting room of the ICU.  
  
He turned to look at Brian, to check and see if his movement had waken him up from where he had been sleeping at his side, but found that he was still snoring lightly, his head thrown back in an awkward angle.   
  
He set his disposable tea cup on the ground and put his head in his hands, the last conversation they had had with Dr. Osborn playing on his mind over and over and over again like a broken record.   
  
The situation was dire.   
  
Deaky was still hooked up to a respirator because he simply wasn’t drawing enough breath on his own to keep himself alive. His breaths per minute rate was at a constant of 7 every time he was tested, when the minimum needed to even begin considering waning him off the awful machine that kept him functioning was 10.  
  
And though the number was close, it wasn’t enough given the stress his body had been and remained under.   
  
His vitals were stable and most of his organs were functioning correctly, if you didn’t count his lungs of course and his liver, which was hanging in the edge between failing and working.    
  
His heart, strangely enough, was giving strong signs of recovery, his pulse at a healthy 60 and his blood pressure normal.   
  
The problem here was, as Dr. Osborn had explained to them just some hours ago, that John couldn’t stay hooked up to the respirator for more than he already had. Well he could but at a great risk, because for each day, after a week, that a patient stayed attached to an artificial breathing machine the probability of organ failure, pneumonia and even sepsis increased tenfold.  
  
Deaky’s liver was in no condition to handle those odds and so they were faced with only one option: Giving him a tracheostomy, which basically meant putting a tube through his neck as a way of establishing and maintaining an airway which ensured the correct exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide.  
  
However, that option added so many extra complications to his recovery, so many other layers to consider when treating him, that it was being considered carefully.   
  
Dr. Osborn had given John 24 hours from their conversation onwards for his breaths per minute rate to improve on its own before they started exploring the tracheostomy or other…options.  
  
Which other options, Roger didn’t know or even want to consider.  
  
He cursed his knowledge of biology, hated how much he understood of the anatomical jargon specialist used around them, because he knew, better than anyone who loved an ICU patient should, just how close Deaky was to dying.   
  
All he had done since Dr. Osborn had told them to _prepare themselves for every possible scenario_ was waiting, and though every minute that had passed since then with no certainty, with only dread for the next medical report, the next time a nurse approached them, had been agonizing, the last hours had been the worst of them all because this was it, after so many pivotal moments, this was where he lost the best thing he had ever had.   
  
He was thankful for the black hole inside of him then, another coping mechanism he mused, because if it wasn’t for it emptying him of all the misery he knew was backlogged in the back of his soul, only leaving him with the buzz of anxiety in his veins, he wouldn’t have been able to handle what was happening.   
  
It would have been too much for him.   
  
He shivered. That chill again. Just as he was about to grab his half empty tea from the ground another, hot cup was placed on his hand. He turned to see Mrs. Deacon smiling sadly at him. She made sure he had the plastic contraption securely curled around his fingers before she took a seat next to him, on his other side, without disturbing Brian.  
  
Roger gave the scorching hot beverage a sip and grimaced. Lily smirked, the kind of smirk John did when he was teasing him, and he was grateful for the black hole again. Because he had merely felt a pull on his heart at watching one of his favorite expressions of the bassist, which at another time would have sent him into becoming a sobbing mess.  
  
“I brought you some chamomile. I know your favorite is English Breakfast but given... everything, I don’t think the caffeine is good for you” she whispered, explaining why she had brought the blonde the stupid excuse for tea he held in his hands now.  
  
He made another face at the cup before asking, in a quiet voice “How do you know English Breakfast is my favorite?”  
  
Mrs. Deacon glanced at her lap for a moment before answering “John told me. He...” she pulled her head up to meet her grey eyes with his blue “he asked me to take care of you. Told me how you liked your tea. That you were going to be just as stubborn as he was when it came to eating and sleeping but that I had all his permission to...” she hesitated, swallowing thickly “to use all my mom authority on you so that you behaved”.   
  
Roger didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to process the information and what it meant for the feelings Deaky had for him, that he had used his last moments with his mom to worry about his wellbeing, so he let the black hole swallow his incoming reaction and turned to take another sip of the offending liquid.  
  
At his silence, Lily continued “Deaky talked about you all the time, you know? About Freddie and Brian too but never like he talked about you. Always with such affection. I never identified either of the others by name before I meet them but you... well I could have picked you up from a crowd from how much he told me about you. I thought you were just very close friends until... I saw you here at the hospital together and then it was very clear to me that what you have goes past friendship...” she trailed off.  
  
The blonde snapped his head up at this words, for it was the first time that Mrs. Deacon had acknowledged his and her son’s relationship out in the open.  
  
She had implied it several times in the past 7 days in her words and in her actions, specially when it came to fighting for their (the drummer’s and her’s) right to see John as soon as they were allowed to, but never this clearly.  
  
At a loss of words again and suddenly very nervous Roger stammered “Lily... I... I mean...”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything my son” she interrupted him, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing it “you don’t have to explain yourself or tell me of your intentions with John. I’ve seen the honesty of your feelings for him for the past 8 days”.   
  
She then tucked her chin to her chest, her shoulders slumping a little “I won’t say that accepting that my son is gay has been easy. His life will be hard, your life...” she stopped, as if waiting for him to interrupt her or say something against her words but when she got nothing but the full attention of the drummer she continued “will be hard. We don’t live in a very accepting and kind world but what I know is that all I have ever wanted for him, ever since he was a little wee thing that could fit in the space between my elbow and my hand, was for him to be happy. And safe. And I never saw him happier than when he talked about you. And as for safety... well, something tells me you would trade places with him right now if you could”.  
  
“I would” answered the blonde, reflexively, without having to think about it “Of course I would” and wished will all his might that he would be able to.  
  
“See? What else could a mom want for her son but someone that loves him as much as you have proven so far? If he wasn’t with you I would be more worried about him being gay but he has you. And Brian and Freddie too, to protect him, help him. You truly are a family, as you so adamantly keep repeating”.  
  
“We are” he replied, finding his chest a little lighter at the now clear knowledge that Mrs. Deacon supported John for who he was, and thought he was a decent partner for his son. He had been expecting her to give him the “don’t break my son’s heart” talk he realized, ever since Freddie had called her his “mother-in-law” back at the bathroom and instead, he had gotten the complete opposite of that.   
  
He batted the mental image of a baby John from his mind and assured her “And we will protect him” he placed his teacup free hand on top of hers “you have nothing to worry about because we will make sure he is always safe... I will make sure he is always safe, no matter what happens”.  
  
Except he wasn’t safe now and there was nothing he could do to protect him, his very helpful brain reminded him. The black hole stirred and his hand clenched Lily’s without meaning to.  
  
The gesture must have given his thoughts away to Mrs. Deacon since she freed her hand from his hold and put it around his shoulders instead, holding him in a strong sideways embrace “You can not protect him from this” she whispered “none of us can“.  
  
“I should...” the drummer whispered back “I should be able to”. His voice broke. He heaved. Was he crying? He couldn’t tell.   
  
There was a sleeve cleaning his cheeks, and another arm around Lily’s. He turned to see Brian, sleepy but tender, taking with his free hand the half drank teacup from him.   
  
Suddenly exhausted, he let his body sag against Mrs. Deacon and sniffed, craving the smell of the laundry detergent the family used which he regularly detected in John’s clothes whenever he was near him, and let himself be hold, in what was the closest thing he could get to comfort: near a Deacon.  
  
Brian put his own head on his shoulder and patted his leg rhythmically, in a soothing motion.   
  
He must have fallen asleep at a point, he couldn’t remember when, for the next thing he knew was Freddie poking his arm carefully, whispering “Rog...Rog a doctor wants to talk to you”.  
  
“To me?” He stammered, struggling to wake up and pry his eyes open. They felt so heavy, like the rest of his body. He was just so tired, every inch of his weary self screaming at him to go back to sleep, his mind reminding him that his reality sucked anyways, that it hurt too much to be awake.   
  
“Yes, to you” insisted Freddie and he sounded as much anxious as he did regretful “I’m sorry to wake you up my dear, I know how much you need to sleep but they are waiting for you”.  
  
His sluggish brain finally put two and two together and he startled into consciousness, standing up so suddenly he got whiplash and almost fell to the ground, if it hadn’t been for Brian’s lanky arms around his waist.  
  
“Is Deaky okay?” He crooked, not understanding how his voice could be so raspy when the rest of his body pulsed in alarm, panic almost sending him running.  
  
“Nothing has changed since the last medical report Rog, now breathe” said the guitarist at his right, not allowing him to move and escape as his instinct told him to by grabbing firmly onto his side.  
  
Roger nodded and took a deep breath, his lungs grateful for the oxygen his head had sorely missed as he stood up and after a minute found himself leaning against Brain as he huffed out “Who wants to talk to me?”  
  
“Deaky’s psychiatrist”.  
  
++++++++++  
  
“... and you think it will make a difference?”   
  
When Roger arrived to Dr. Evans office, after making sure Brian and Freddie were completely attentive to whatever happened in the ICU (though medical reports where not due for a another few hours) and stumbling through corridors for 5 minutes, he was surprised to find Lily already there, sitting across from a stern looking woman with short grey hair and thin rimmed glasses, who looked like she hadn’t slept in years and had the temper to prove it.  
  
Dr. Evans, he supposed.   
  
“Yes?” She said as soon as he entered the room, her expression steely.  
  
Roger straightened up unintentionally under the severe gaze of this new doctor of Deaky’s he hadn’t heard of before and cleared his throat a bit before saying “You called for me?”  
  
“He is Roger Taylor” offered Mrs. Deacon, patting the seat next to her in an invitation for him to seat down.  
  
He faltered, the doctor’s eyes still so stern on him, reviewing him up and down, that he felt as if he couldn’t move. Ultimately, he followed Lily’s directions and sat on the chair offered, his bottom protesting at yet another hard surface.  
  
He shifted uncomfortably and was about to ask what was going on when Dr. Evans spoke “so you are John’s... best friend?”  
  
“I said his partner” protested Mrs. Deacon.  
  
“Yes, yes, partner” corrected the Doctor harshly.  
  
Roger turned to look at Lily with wide eyes, because one thing was acknowledging his and her son’s relationship to him and another altogether was speaking about it so openly with other people.   
  
She had sounded sheepish enough when they had talked before and even had said outright that she had found it difficult to accept John was gay yet here she was, calling him his partner, to this unfriendly doctor’s face.   
  
She was stating publicly her support for her son and him and wasn’t backing away from it because of what other people might think of it, no matter how badly looked upon it was, simply because she wanted to honor her son and made sure he was happy.   
  
That was courage if he had ever seen it.   
  
Admiration and affection the black hole couldn’t eat prickled the blonde’s skin because, he recognized, he would be hard pressed to find a better mother-in-law than Mrs. Deacon.   
  
If he could even call her that.   
  
He wished with all his guts he could.   
  
Damn Freddie for putting the title in his head in the first place.  
  
He wanted to thank her and let her know how much he appreciated what she was doing but knew this was not the forum to do so, so he settled for smiling at her (or trying to do it) and confirming what she had just said proudly “I am John’s partner, yes. What is going on? Why did you ask for me?”  
  
The doctor sighted, every hard line of her face expressing disapproval. She closed her eyes, pinched her nose with her forefinger and thumb as if she was thinking hard about something and then said “This is highly unorthodox. I can’t believe I am agreeing to this but I do believe it is in the best interest of John so...”  
  
She turned to look at Roger, full on again, so intensely the drummer could make out the green traces in her brown eyes and said, in a very serious voice “Mr. Deacon is dying. I know you know how terrible the odds are for him staying attached to the respirator but the team of doctors are not hopeful about the tracheostomy either because the chances of complications arising are too great. And the last thing John needs right now are more complications”.  
  
Roger nodded involuntarily, grasping his hands to each other on his lap since they had started shaking.  
  
“So” continued the grey haired woman “his best chance of surviving is improving his breathing ratio on his own and that’s where you come in. Patients in a coma can still listen to everything around them and there are studies that show that if family members or... loved ones” she wavered, evidently disapproving of the fact that the blonde was a loved one for Deaky “talk to them while they are under, the encouragement and love they receive help them improve their vitals and sometimes even make miraculous comebacks so, given Mr. Deacon’s lack of options I reasoned with Dr. Osborn and procured a slot of 5 minutes, because it is the only safe amount of time someone can be with the patient, for his mother to visit him in the ICU and see if that helped but” she leaned back on her chair, her eyebrows going into her hairline “surprisingly, when I told her about this she said that she didn’t think she was the one who should get to see John but you. She says you are the one who can make a real difference. And I mean it is her choice, it’s her son after all, she’s got all the power to make decisions. But I have to agree to it too, you see? Clear the person that is going to see John. Make sure they are ready”.  
  
She straightened her back and leaned into her desk, eying Roger again intensely ”Because it won’t be easy. Mr. Deacon right now is not a pretty sight, nothing like you remember him. It will take a toll on you emotionally to see him like that but you have to hold yourself together through the visit and talk to him, give him strength and hope. You can’t cry, or display how effected you obviously are, but show yourself firm and in control of your emotions at all times, and I’m sorry if I’m being too blunt, but you don’t look like you can do that Mr. Taylor”.  
  
Roger’s first instinct was to get angry at the Doctor’s statement. And he did, in the back of his mind, though the black hole devoured the red hot fury as soon as it flared up.  
  
After, all that he could do was hear his mom’s voice chanting over and over again in his head _get a thicker skin_.  
  
At his side, Mrs. Deacon had went full momma hen at Dr. Evans’ comment and was saying, in a high voice which was highly unusual for the gentle lady “I don’t care who you are, you won’t talk to Roger like that, you hear me? We’ve had enough by having to sit here and suffer through the faces you make because my son is gay and now we have to put up with insults? Can’t you see that the boy is suffering because he loves my son? What kind of person are you to say something like that to someone who has been through the trauma of having the person he loves almost dying?”  
  
“Mrs. Deacon” replied the speckled woman, raising a placating hand “I am a professional of mental health and just giving my honest evaluation of a situation that intimately affects your son. I am just doing my job here...”  
  
“Listen” shouted the blonde, surprising himself and the other two women, who both turned to look at him “I...” he stuttered, not knowing what else to say. And then he remembered Deaky, all quiet smiles and bashful looks, asking him outside of the studio one day what he felt like when he played the drums, because he seemed so alive when he did so. The memory, for some strange reason, made him remember his previous reflections about why the bassist loved him and then he knew what to say “look, Dr. Evans, of course I am feeling terrible because the person I care most about in the world is, as you have very eloquently put it, dying. Of course it has made a mess of me, and I am not ashamed of that. As I am not ashamed of being an emotional person, because I am, and that is just how things are. That doesn’t mean I can’t help John” in the periphery of his vision he could see Lily beaming at him with pride and that made the black hole take a step back for a moment and he felt his power, however diluted, come back to him, if only to defend Deaky and himself “because last time I checked being an emotional wreck was why he loved me in the first place. So whatever I say to him, or however I act will do. I don’t have to prove myself to you or anyone, and you will allow me to see John simply because his mother chose me to do so. Also, stop judging us, and showing your distaste at our choice of partners or else I will have to punch you in the face”.  
  
Mrs. Deacon looked in the verge of clapping but Dr. Evans, instead of being taken aback like the blonde expected her to be, just nodded, as in approval, and said “there, that is what I wanted to see. You’ve got grit Mr. Taylor, and that is exactly what I needed to authorize you because as I’ve already told you, this won’t be easy and it will take a strong backbone. I needed some kind of proof that you weren’t in a fragile mental state completely so that you could handle what you are about to. But I have faith now this will work. This might be John’s very last chance. Do you understand that?”  
  
“Yes” said the drummer, his voice coming steady, strength still running weakly through his veins and pulsing, since now all he could hear in the back of his head was Deaky’s voice whispering to him _I love you too. Very fucking much_.  
  
And then he amended “I can do this”.   
  
++++++++++  
  
“I can’t do this” whispered Roger into Freddie’s shirt as he hugged him before leaving to visit Deaky in the ICU.   
  
He was a bloody mess.   
  
Damn, Dr. Evans had been right. He wasn’t fit to do this. The black hole had gone and taken a vacation when he had needed it the most and now he was shacking, head to toe, scared to fucking shit about what he was about to see, at saying the wrong things to Deaky, at not being able to make him draw enough breath on his own, at wasting this precious opportunity and of failing Mrs. Deacon, who had trusted him with this and given up her chance to see her son after so long.  
  
All the confidence he had had when he had told off the horrible psychiatrist had evaporated from his skin, leaving him questioning himself again, his way of being, if John really did love him for what he thought he did.  
  
His emotions were a tangled web, making him feel panic after insecurity after worry after pain after self-doubt after fear after despair after terror. And responsibility, so much responsibility that weighted heavy on his shoulders.  
  
He was going to explode, he was sure of it, any time now.  
  
The only thing keeping him steady were Freddie’s arms around him and his melodic voice whispering to him “You can Darling, we know you can”.  
  
“What if I only make this worse? What if I just fuck it all up? I won’t know what to say to him, I won’t know what to do”.  
  
Brian’s voice reached his ears from where he was still on the singer’s arms, calming and safe “You are brave Rog. You are strong. You have been so every step of this journey and this won’t be different. You can do this. We know you can”.  
  
“We do. Besides son, John and you love each other so much I’m sure your presence alone will help. That is why I wanted you to go in instead of me. Your love will heal him, where mine can’t” finished Mrs. Deacon, patting his back carefully.  
  
He still didn’t think he could do this, but he let his friend’s words wash over him, asking his body to please grasp the fortitude he was sorely missing from them.   
  
“Mr. Taylor?” Called a nurse from inside of one of the doors to the ICU “we are ready for you now”.  
  
“It’s okay Rog” said Freddie, letting him go reluctantly “don’t worry, we are here and we will be here when you come back. Now just go and tell Deaky the truth. It’s that simple, just tell him how you feel, nothing else. Just be you, that is why he loves you”.   
  
The drummer took a deep breath and swallowed back his tears, his panic, his horrible self-doubt and latched on to the singer’s last words, which confirmed what he thought about why John loved him. If someone else was seeing it, maybe it was real, right?  
  
He had to believe it.  
  
This was for Deaky, he reminded himself, he could do this because it was for him. And he would do anything for him. Except living without him.  
  
Still trembling, he stepped outside the comfort of Freddie’s arms and headed toward the nurse, his blood pounding on his ears, his heart leaping in his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to upload this but life has been very busy. Don't worry though, next week everything frees up and hopefully, I will be able to update at a quicker pace.
> 
> As always, I did my medical research for the chapter but everything is amplified for dramatic purposes. 
> 
> Now, on with the show.

Roger felt as if the tube sticking out of Deaky’s throat was splitting him in half.

He had expected the hospital scene he was going to witness to be horrific, had been warned about it, but not even his darkest nightmares could have compared to what was currently in front of him.

What had scared him the most, at first at least, had been the monitors, which were everywhere, making the small ICU room feel stuffy and hot. Attached to them where so many cables the blonde couldn’t make out where one began and the other ended. They snaked around Deaky’s tiny metal cot, and ended up adhered to different parts of the man’s body, mainly both his arms but also his neck and even his ankle.

The machines beeped constantly and showed different numbers on their screens, statistics and data that the blonde tried very hard not to pay attention to. 

Stashed in the only available corner that wasn’t already filled with monitors in the wall in front of the drummer, at the back of the bassist’s bed, were two IV stands, each carrying different sized bags full of liquids of suspicious colors. If he had counted them, Roger would have been able to make out 6 of them, all connected to John through an IV on his right arm and a central line on his throat.

Roger flinched involuntarily at how much it had probably hurt to get that central line installed and prayed to whomever was listening that Deaky had been under when the doctors had done that to him.

Other than that the most noticeable thing from the entrance, where he was standing bracing himself against the frame of the door, was the tube he had first seen, which had sent such a jolt of pain through him he had had to grab the hinges of the entryway to John’s ICU space in order not to fall to his knees.

Because there was an actual plastic cylinder going into Deaky’s mouth, and it looked so thick and rugged and painful to have there, splitting his lips open and ripping his throat apart, that for a brief moment, Roger thought that his mind had betrayed him and was causing him to see things that hurt him out of pure spite.

He imagined such rebellion was possible, after all he had been thinking and feeling and in general going through the last several weeks. 

The tube that he knew was keeping John alive felt like a violation to the one most precious to him, and as he blinked his tears away and forced himself to keep his eyes open, he felt something hot fire up on his stomach, from where it had been singing a lullaby of despair, and he caught himself mid stride towards the bassist, his hand raised. 

As he stopped, the fact that he had been mindlessly on his way to rip the offending tube away from Deaky in a rage spell hit him full force, making the fury on his veins go back to searing pain.

His legs wobbled again as he remembered Mrs. Deacon saying to him, just a few hours before _You can not protect him from this_.

His stubborn self though couldn’t understand it, hadn’t gotten the memo even if he had already wept about this, and his chest tightened as a wave of what he only could call protectiveness washed over him, almost moving his hands again to try and free the bassist from the horrid contraption that looked so much like it was damaging him that it burned at his own throat too.

_It’s keeping him alive, it’s keeping him alive_ he told himself over and over as he tried to take a deep breath and get his bearings back.

Not knowing what to do with his fingers to force them to be still, he moved one of his hands to cover his eyes, while the other grabbed at empty space until it bumped with the railway of John’s bed. This surprised him a little, for he hadn’t realized he had walked this far in his frenzy. He risked peaking out from beneath his digits a little to see where he was standing and saw that he was next to where Deaky’s shoulders were in his cot, at his right side. 

Instinctively, he shielded his eyes again and rubbed at them, keeping himself from truly glancing at John, finding that he couldn’t, didn’t have the strength or the guts to do it. Because from where he was he had the perfect vantage point from which to see every tiny injury that the man had had to endure during surgery in detail, and he just couldn’t bear it. He was afraid that seeing that would finish breaking him in half, concluding what the damn breathing tube had started.

His other hand latched onto the cold metal bar in front of it forcefully and curled around it, going white in an instant, straining his muscles until it ached. He was hurting himself. Deaky wouldn’t like that. But what else could he do? He had to ground himself somehow because everything was spinning around him. 

Breathing. He had to breathe. Get air into his lungs. Suddenly he could hear the faint sound that the respirator was making in the background. He hadn’t heard it before. A slow _thud_ , _thud_ , _thud_. It was pumping air into John’s lungs. Air that wasn’t getting there any other way.

That is why he was here, he reminded himself. He had to make John breathe. He had to be strong, he had to be brave, he had to be anything other than what he was being right now. 

His fingers were wet. He had failed in stifling his crying. His eyes were raw from so much damn crying. He was sure he had never cried as much as he had the last weeks, never felt as miserable or as alive or as damn human. 

Deaky had made him feel that. He was losing him. He had to do this. 

With every ounce of willpower he had he removed his hand from his eyes and wiped at his cheeks. As he blinked the image before him came into focus. 

It was John but it wasn’t John. It was his ghost. His skin was transparent when once it had been milky white, his face was gaunt, two thick, blue, plastic straps going around his hallow cheeks holding in place the horrid breathing tube that was tearing Roger apart. 

They looked like they were hurting him too, digging into this skin, and the blonde had to turn his head around for a moment to breathe and rationalize again, not let his rage win over him.

Once he had a little more control over himself he turned his gaze back to Deaky.

The drummer had never realized just how perfect were John’s eyebrows, so straight and bushy, so damn beautiful. Even under these circumstances, when the rest of the bassist’s face looked like it belonged to a corpse, his eyebrows remained untouched, each hair straight and dark, each hair where it belonged, forming an elegant line.

His free hand gently traced them, backwards and forwards, combing them a little, trying to feel every texture they offered. He was staling, he was aware of that, trying very hard not to see beyond Deaky’s eyes.

5 minutes. He only had 5 minutes. 

With great effort he dragged his eyes down and saw... well, exactly what he had been avoiding. 

John was naked from the chest up, three different tubes coming out from between his ribs, which were so pronounced they looked like they were threatening to rip his skin apart and make a run for it.

Roger recognized said tubes (more fucking tubes) as the ones draining liquid out of Deaky’s lungs, something the doctors had mentioned to them one day in passing.

Because besides basically killing them heart surgery also made patient’s lungs get filled with water. 

In the middle of the bassist’s pale chest was a long, rather thick, angry red scar, which ran from the very last of the offending ribs all the way to his collarbone, which was also very taunt against translucent skin.

The scar was enough to shock anyone but what made the drummer’s hand begin to shake as it moved from his face to trace down the limp arm of the man he loved was the staples that were over the damaged skin, one after the other, covering the whole length of it.

Staples? Really? 

He guessed they were the surgical type, remembered vaguely something that Dr. Osborn had told them about how the chest needed extra reinforcement for closing and healing as fast as possible once opened because of how it supported and protected the whole upper half of the body, because of how important it was basically, and how they used every technique available to achieve it, but this seemed too much like a mutilation, too much like John had been butchered and then put back together with scotch tape.

His heart lurched at the atrocity, because he couldn’t think of anyone less deserving of this violence than sweet, gentle John.

His John.

Before he knew what he was doing he was talking, babbling really, his right hand still caressing the man’s arm, the other finally leaving the railway and going to grasp Deaky’s cold hand as lay on top of the horse hospital bedding “This is just so fucking unfair, so cruel. My God John you don’t deserve this, you deserve nothing of this bullshit and I can’t protect you from it and shit, shit, shit, I’m not supposed to be telling you this am? Damn it!”

He lifted his hands from Deaky’s body, putting them on top of his head in an effort to contain all that was going on inside it, trying with all his might to keep himself together and get a grip on his thoughts, which were a whirlwind that went from Dr. Evans words to him, to the last thing that Mrs. Deacon had told him, going all through every conversation he had had with John. 

Everything inside him was a mess, a complete chaos of heartbreak and terror and fury and for more than he rummaged inside his head, inside his heart, and tried to come up with the right words to tell Deaky to make him breathe, he came up completely blank.

He was ruining this, he was going to let John die because he didn’t know what to say to him and Dr. Evans would be right and his mother too and he was going to let down Mrs. Deacon and Freddie and Brian and he was going to loose the love of his life because of he was a weakling….

God. 

Ohh God.

John was the love of his life. 

He was, wasn’t he?

It was so obvious, once he had finally seen it. Of course he was. He was the only one that had made him feel after all, face himself and somehow come to accept parts of him that he had always rejected.

That he was rejecting now. 

Fuck.

Why did he had to recognize this, in the middle of the ICU, with Deaky laying on his dead bed?

Why now of all moments?

The full impact of the realization and of the situation hit him hard, physically, as if his muscles had suddenly become lead and were weighing him down, trying to make him meet the ground. 

He swayed on his god damn unsteady feet, trying to catch his breath, which he had lost again. 

Once he got a mouthful of oxygen thought, his breath went from shallow one minute, to full sobbing the next, each whimper he gave racking him from side to side.

He was going to fall down if he didn’t do anything, his legs where in the brink of giving in, so not knowing what else to do and intuitively looking for comfort, he placed his head, surprisingly carefully given how badly he was trembling, over John’s stomach, leaning over the railway, and grabbed at both the man’s hands with his own, gripping them tightly and crying into this bedsheets.

He didn’t realize when he started speaking, but heard himself distantly anyways, as if listening to someone else “I’m messing this up Deaky. I don’t know what I’m doing my love, I have no idea of what to tell you for you to come back to me and breath, I have no idea of what to do, or how to handle that I just noticed, idiot me, that you are the love of my life. I don’t know how to handle all of this. It’s too fucking much. Too much. God, why is this so bloody difficult” he sniffled, closing his eyes and nuzzling his nose closer to John’s body “I just….please just… don’t leave me alone, don’t leave me in a world I don’t want to be in if you are not in it. I don’t care about the band, or about drumming or about anything if you are not here. I always wanted to be a rock star but I would trade my hands right now if it meant you would wake up”.

His voice let out, his grief becoming wrath yet again and taking over his chest, making him snap upright and move away from Deaky’s bed before he did something he would later regret again.

He started pacing from one side to the other of the small, crowded room, putting his hands back up in his hair and tugging painfully at it, almost screaming ”you are the damn love of my life John! I didn’t have a heart before I saw how stupidly in love I am with you and now you are my heart and you are here dying, and I am dying with you, without you, feeling like a fucking shadow every minute of every day that you don’t breathe and I can’t…I can’t fucking do this! I won’t live without you, you are everything to me!”

He stopped abruptly, the realness of his last statement making his feet stagger on their next step. 

He grabbed at the railing of Deaky’s bed again to avoid plunging to the ground like his body had tried to make him do so many times through out the last 5 minutes, which were, without a doubt, the toughest, longest of his life. 

There was a knock on the door and the nurse that had originally picked him up from the ICU waiting room appeared in the doorway. 

The drummer turned to face her, and by her reaction picked up that he was in quite an inconvenient state, not like he hadn’t known that already.

She looked at him with what he was sure was pity, her face falling a bit. Then she bit her lip and turned her gaze pointedly to ground, saying in a soft voice “I’m so sorry Mr. Taylor but your time is up…but don’t worry… I will give you another minute. And then I’ll come back to escort you back to your family”.

He didn’t have it in him to respond, so when he failed to do so the woman just gave him a curt nod and stepped away, coming to stand right by the door. 

This was it.

His last minute with John. 

His last minute with the love of his life.

The last time he might see him alive.

And though he had thought that already several times by now, through out the whole nightmare that had been John’s pass through the hospital, he knew, his heart knew, that this was really the endgame, this was really the last time he might get to see John Richard Deacon alive.

So he lowered himself over the man he loved and gave a soft brush of his lips his temple, letting his head rest against the cool forehead for a bit. 

Then he put his lips to Deaky’s right ear, his fingers going to caress at his sweaty hair and whispered “I love you. With all of my blood and my tears, with all my stupidity and my drumming skills, with every inch of my skin and every one of my breaths, with all that I am and I have, I love you”.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“Why is he taking so long?” said Brian to Freddie, for the 1,00th time, standing up from where he had been sitting and going to march back and forth in frustration in front of the singer. 

“He is not taking long dear” answered said man, patiently, writing a few more words into the piece of paper he was holding between his hand and his knee “He has been gone for only a few minutes. He will be back soon”.

“How can you be so calm?” Brian retorted, in a hysterical tone, stopping mid stride to hunch down and peer at what the singer was annotating “Love of my life, you’ve hurt me…” he read out loud, arching an eyebrow at the words until they clicked in his brain and then said, offended, putting his hand on top of his chest “God Fred are you writing a song?!”

Freddie looked up at him, their foreheads almost knocking since they were so close, and said calmly “Yes”.

“How can you… how can you…?” Stammered the guitarist, squaring his shoulders backwards as he got himself upright. 

“What did Deaky say Brian?” Replied Freddie, tilting his chin defiantly at the curly haired man “Do you want me to quote him? _You have to keep going. You have to go out there and help the lonely boys and girls of the world…”_

“No!” The other man interrupted, two decibels away from screaming. Several people in the ICU waiting room turned their heads to gaze at them disapprovingly, so when he next spoke, Brian’s voice had gone down to an anxious whisper “I know what he said. Do you think I can think of anything else? It’s all I keep hearing in my head. Well that and Roger’s sobs from the bathroom…” he faltered, then went quiet, his head falling into his chin, his shoulders hunching over. 

Freddie’s heart lurched at the sadness on Brian’s features and he patted the seat next to him.

When the guitarist didn’t move, the singer tugged down on his long arm, until he finally lowered himself onto the edge of the chair, his feet bouncing a bit even seated as he was, his arms going around him, probably not intentionally.

Freddie’s chest had been in constant flames for what he felt as ages now, but the fire that burned him alive livened a bit at the sight of always calm, always even tempered Brian Harold May completely at the end of his rope. 

He set aside his pen and paper on the seat that had belonged to Lily before she had left to go get tea and with his new found freedom put both his arms around Brian’s sharp shoulders, bringing him close. 

The guitarist didn’t remove his own arms from where they were encompassing his torso but he put up no resistance, letting himself be hugged by his friend, setting his head on his shoulder, so close that the singer could feel his breath against his throat.

Freddie shivered at the intimacy, but welcomed it, rubbing small circles into middle of Brian’s back with his hands, trying to calm him down. 

Unlike Roger, Brian’s reaction to Deaky’s health crisis had been expected by Freddie. Knowing him well, not as throughly as he did the blonde but still deep enough to be able to predict his behavior fairly accurately, he had seen from a mile away that the guitarist was going to go full mother hen on each of them, doing his best to protect them, being the rational one, the serene one, always soothing others, always being useful and quick on his feet.

And he had been right. 

Besides doing every single tiny chore he could for Mrs. Deacon and making sure Freddie did something other than smoking, Brian had been Roger’s right hand through the last week that John had been in the ICU. He had made sure he ate, little as he did but something, kept him warm by bringing him jumpers and blankets with which to cover himself since the drummer constantly complained he was cold, and in general been there for him with words of encouragement and little speeches about how everything was going to be alright, every time the blonde seemed to loose hope, which happened very often and usually in the death of night. 

He always spoke with such a bucolic tone, his sentences so full of thought and intention, his manner so intellectual and bookish, that even Freddie found himself believing him when he spoke of Deaky overcoming incredible odds.

He seemed so in command of knowledge that it seemed silly not to. 

It was in the nights, those long nights when Brian eased Roger with his calm talks after he had thrown a fit, usually controlled by Freddie himself, that the singer realized just how close this event had brought them together. 

They had always cared for each other, always called themselves a family, and though it had been true then, now the bonds that they had had been renewed and reinforced with steel by going through tragedy together. 

Well, no. They hadn’t been fortified with steel, but rather, they had been consolidated by love.

The kind of love that was real and deep, that came from witnessing the humanity of another person as he faced the toughest things that had happened to him or her, that came from feeling their pain as if it was your own and trying to do everything you could to mitigate it, from having their tears and snot in your fur coat and not caring about it being ruined. 

It was the love of brotherhood, the profound awareness that there was someone who had your back, someone you could trust and count on, who in turn could trust and count on you, since you had their backs as well and would do anything for them. 

John being sick was the worst thing that had happened to Queen as a band, to each and every one of it’s members, but if they made it through, if Deaky woke up and came back to them, it would probably be the thing that made them stronger than ever, almost indestructible. 

If John recovered, then, there would be no stopping them, or tearing them apart. 

Something bothered Freddie then, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

He wondered idly for how long he had hold Brian in his arms but it probably hadn’t been long, for Roger had not come back yet and he was going to be gone for a very short time.

And then it hit him. 

He hadn’t seen Brian show his emotions much, cry or be nervous, as he was being right now, since the mini break down he had had that horrible day in the bathroom. Not once. When Roger went from hollow to crying to screaming of fury to blank at incredible rate everyday and even him and Lily had their quiet crying sessions, usually holding each other when the other two were either sleeping or out eating or changing, the singer hadn’t seen the guitarist waver in his cool demeanor for the last 7 days. 

And Freddie knew he was worried sick about Deaky and Roger, they all were. 

And then it hit him again.

Brian had tried to keep himself together in order to protect all of them, putting their well being ahead of his own. He had done his best to conceal what he was feeling so he would be able to be there for them, their rock amidst the storm.

God, how had he not seen that? Why had it taken him so long to realize it?

That explained the sudden rush of fretfulness he was displaying right now. Having Roger face Deaky and the absolute concern they all had regarding the event had probably been the match that had fired all the kindling he had been storing up by trying to stifle how he felt. 

And now, he was burning, but still under control, his arms around his hips as if attempting to keep his feelings contained as close to him as possible and therefore affect everyone as little as he could. 

Freddie’s heart ached again, his own fire of pain roaring intensely, for the love he felt for this fool and his intentions of caring for them, and how much bitterness he felt at the fact that he hadn’t grasped before that Brian had been playing it strong and needed someone to look after him too. 

The regret tasted sour in his mouth but he knew better than to batter himself for it. This experience had taught him that he was just doing his best, as any other human could, and that that was all he could do. Besides, he was sure it had been his own sorrow that had blinded him to Brian’s own, which was nothing but understandable.

Still, he saw his pain now, didn’t he? And he had him in his arms so he turned his head to mumble, with the most tender voice he could manage, into the guitarist ear “It’s okay Bri. I’ve got you. You can let go now”.

For a minute, there was no response but the way Brian’s shoulders went tense against his arms. And then he answered, in a small, small voice, puffs of warm air against the singer’s collarbone as the guitarist ducked his head further into his friend “I can’t Fred. Roger is going to come out any moment now and I have to be there for him. We are not sure how he is going to come out, what he saw. I have to be strong for him”.

Freddie shook his head minutely, as to not bother Brian and whispered “You don’t have to be strong for anyone my dear. You have been strong enough for all of us, for such a long time. Let me be there for Roger and for you now. I want to be here for you. Please”.

Nothing. 

And then the singer heard a whimper. And then another one. And then wetness where there had been hot breath. 

Freddie felt his own shoulders sag in relief at the knowledge that Brian had finally allowed himself to cry, and hold him tightly, as tight as he could, against him, the chairs they were sitting in uncomfortable, their armrests digging into his side, but he didn’t care. He rocked the taller man slightly, from side to side and let him grieve, whispering sweet nothings to him. 

It didn’t last long. 

The singer had known it wouldn’t. Brian was too much of a control freak to truly let go. Plus the situation they found themselves in indeed wasn’t ideal to do this.

Still he had accomplished something and he was sure the guitarist would feel a little better for it.

He had to make sure though, so as the lanky man pulled away from him and rubbed at his eyes, cleaning his tear tracks with his fingers he inquired “Do you feel better love?”

Brian nodded, his curls bouncing a little as he did so. His face was contorted in a grimace, his eyes were red but there was something about his posture that had changed in those few minutes, something about his shoulders that was less tense.

It wasn’t ideal, and he made a mental note to return to it later when they had the time, since now they had to pay attention to something else. 

Because from where he was sitting he could see a nurse bringing to them a lump with messy blonde hair. 

She was more of dragging him, because he didn’t seem to be able to walk on his own. 

Brian surely saw the alarm on his features for he turned to look to the entrance of the ICU quickly, where he was facing, and then immediately stood up, Freddie with him in an instant, both almost running to the nurse’s side to help her.

Carefully, the guitarist took Roger from the woman’s hands, putting one of his arms around the drummer’s waist, and the blonde’s own around his neck.

Their friend was awake but didn’t seem aware. He wasn’t gone exactly, still supporting his weight a little, gripping on Brian’s shoulder with the hand attached to the arm that was around the guitarist’s neck. 

His face had tear tracks on it, his eyes were puffy, and he was shacking visibly. When Brian muttered “Jesus Rog, are you okay?” he didn’t answer,  but rather chose to hide his face in the crook of the guitarist’s neck, just as he himself had done with Freddie just some minutes ago. 

Brian and the singer exchanged tense glances, and without saying a word came to the agreement that the guitarist was going to take Roger to sit where they had previously sat while Freddie talked to the nurse that had brought him to them. 

Just as Brian started walking the drummer deliberately and slowly to safety, the kind looking nurse begun speaking, before the singer could say anything “He is alright. I made sure of it. I checked his vitals back at the nurse’s station before I brought him out here when he stopped answering my questions. His blood pressure and blood sugar are a little low but I guess that is to be expected given how much I have seen you three around here. He hasn’t been sleeping or eating much, huh?”

Freddie shook his head.

She continued “There you go. He went a little catatonic because of the emotional shock he just went through, amplified by exhaustion and lack of food. I have seen it happen before, to plenty of patient’s families” she lowered her head a little but went on ”it’s never easy for anyone to see the people they love in the state that being in the ICU renders them in and from what I could see…well Mr. Taylor loves Mr. Deacon very much, right?”

She looked at the singer straight on then, and Freddie could see empathy in her eyes. Such a heavy burden when being an ICU nurse he mused, as he replied “Yes. He does”.

She shook her head slightly and gripped the singer’s bicep lightly “Don’t worry about him then, though I see how that can be difficult. He will be back to normal, or close to it at least, in some time. Just make sure to get some sugar into him and make him sleep, or rest, if he doesn’t want to sleep. Which I’m sure he won’t. And… some cuddles wouldn’t hurt. Your patient’s status remains the same as it was before Mr. Taylor went it and if something changes, you will hear it from Dr. Osborn, who will come to give you his full medical report in about two hours” she paused and then smiled sadly at him “try to get some rest and food yourselves. You can’t all run into the ground. And come see me if you need anything. My name is Flora”. 

Freddie gave her a meaningful smile then, his chest full of gratitude for her actions, for her gentleness and service. When he spoke next, he let all of his appreciation leak into his tone “Thank you Flora. You have been the kindest soul we have met in this god forsaken hospital”.

She closed her eyes, nodded slightly and then turned, going back into the ICU.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“I failed” wallowed Roger against Brian’s shoulder, nuzzling his forehead into the other man’s bony collarbone and grabbing at his t-shirt “I didn’t know what to say or do, I probably only made him more upset with my idiot reactions and now I’m going to loose him. God, I failed you and Freddie and Lily and proved Dr. Evans right and everything is just….wrong”.

“You didn’t fail anyone Rog” whispered Brian into the drummer’s blonde hair. He patted his back tenderly, obviously worried for the state of his friend’s feelings but still fucking grateful that he had gone back to talking. 

It had taken them the better part of an hour to make him drink tea with milk and sugar on it, the easiest way to get glucose into him they had figured, but even when he had managed to finish the damn cup they had still been on edge, waiting for him to puke the liquid right back up. 

Thankfully, that hadn’t happened.

Still, it had taken the drummer another half an hour or so to come back to himself and start talking, or rather, crying. 

There was obviously not convincing him into sleeping or even resting, so Brian, Freddie and Lily had decided to take turns hugging him and soothing him as best as they could instead, reasoning that it was the closest the blonde could get to comfort, given how difficult it had been for him to see John in the ICU.

He hadn’t told them much about the episode, just reassuring Mrs. Deacon that he had done his absolute best to bring Deaky back to them. 

And then proceeded to dissolve in tears into Freddie’s arms. 

As he hold him close now and shushed him, Brian understood from his words that the drummer felt that he hadn’t fulfilled the duty that had been placed upon him by Lily and that horrible psychiatrist she had told them about, even when he had told his mother-in-law otherwise.

But what else could he tell her? Thought Brian. That he felt that he had been unsuccessful at making Deaky come back from the death?

It had been too much responsibility placed on the shoulders of someone that had suffered intensely for days and days on end, and though he understood what Dr. Evans had done of course, from the scientific point of view (he had had the same theory all along, after all, had pushed Roger himself to be brave and give John something to fight for since the beginning of the nightmare they were living) he saw now that his friend had been in no state to face what he had.

He had been courageous and strong for too long.

Feeling his heart ache for Roger, he hold him closer to his chest, telling him with completely conviction “You did everything you could Rog. It’s an impossible situation and you still went and faced it, on your feet. I’m sure whatever you told Deaky was enough because it was the truth and as Freddie told you, there was nothing else for you to tell him. Whatever happens, know in your heart that you did best, just like you told Lily”.

“God, I lied to her, I told her…”

“John Deacon’s Family”. 

Fuck. It was Dr. Osborn’s voice. Time had gone by quickly. 

The guitarist felt Roger go stiff in his arms. Then he resolutely separated himself from Brian’s embrace, cleaning his face with the hem of his t-shirt quickly and standing up to go the the doors of the ICU, where Freddie and Mrs. Deacon were already, huddling around the cardiologist. 

The guitarist followed him, placing an arm around his shoulders as he came to stand next to him, bracing himself for what came next and the inevitable break down that would follow. 

Dr. Osborn, however, looked strange.

Was he…smiling?

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but Dr. Evan’s strange ideas worked” he turned to Roger, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder and brushing fingers with Brian’s arm in the process “I don’t know what you told him lad, but it worked. John’s breathing rate has gone up. It’s holding steady between 10 and 13 breaths per minute, which is enough for us to wane him off the respirator. Now, we still can’t celebrate, because he has to hold this rate for more than 24 hours on his own, but once he achieves that, we can finally get him out of the induced coma and into the path of healing. His liver, astonishingly enough, is also a little better according to his last lab work and his heart is still giving us healthy signs of recovery so… if all this continues he might, just might, make it through. I repeat, we still can’t take this as a complete win but John is better. Much better than he was just two hours ago. And you can take all the credit for that son” he grinned at the drummer, who looked so stunned that the guitarist was glad he had his arm around him, in case he collapsed from agitation to the floor. 

“Now if you will excuse me I will go to sign some papers to make sure you, and you Lily” he turned to face Mrs. Deacon, whose eyes gleamed with unshed tears of happiness “can see John as soon as it is sensible. We need to keep him strong and if these psychiatric things are what are going to make a difference to him, then so be it. Let’s use them as much as we can. Hell, I might even use this technique with some of my other patients”.

He gave Roger one last squeeze on the shoulder, and looked into his eyes as he said “You just saved John’s life young man. You should be proud”.

And with that, he left, giving one last glance back only to see that Freddie, Brian and Mrs. Deacon had all gathered together around the blonde, in one big, encompassing, group hug. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and your support! They make me so happy and so excited to continue writing! Honestly, the mean the world to me.
> 
> I know that I say the same things in all of my replies to your comments but, like Deaky himself would say "I want you to know, my feelings are true". 
> 
> Now, on with the show.
> 
> P.D. From now on, just assume all the medical facts in this fic have been modified for dramatic effects, please.

Freddie handed Roger a cup of English Breakfast as he took a seat next to him, in the ground of the ICU waiting room, which had become almost a home to them given how much time they had spent in it.

The singer glanced at the cream colored walls all around them, behind them, the bland decoration, the generic paintings hanging from the walls, all of the things that had been witnesses to some of the hardest moments of his life, of Roger’s and Brian’s lives.

Of Lily’s life.

He turned to see the woman now, who was chatting in lively whispers with Brian about who knew what, the expression on her face the closest thing Freddie had seen to happiness.

Maybe it was relief.

It was similar to the expression hanging on Roger’s features, though his eyes were closed as he blew softly on his tea to cool it down and make it drinkable.

He dared a peek at Brian’s face, and found that through the conversation he was having with Mrs. Deacon, he was smiling, actually smiling, the honest, toothy grin that exposed his canines out in full display as his hands gestured wildly at whatever it was that he was saying.

Freddie never thought he could love expressions, but that is what exactly what he found himself doing, cherishing the glint in Brian´s eyes, Lily´s easy posture as she spoke, the slight relaxation on Roger´s shoulders.

And then a thought occurred to him.

It wasn’t the expressions on the faces of those he loved that he felt strongly for, but rather what they meant. He loved the fact that these people, his little mismatched coven, were finally feeling better.

After so many weeks of anxiety and pain and sorrow, they were finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Because the only missing member of his gang was on his way to complete recovery, or so the doctors said.

His breathing rate had been hanging steady at a pretty decent 15 breaths per minute, his liver showing signs of improvement every time they ran tests, his heart as strong as it could be given what it had gone through.

And though the real test for John’s main organ was still coming, would be when he had to actually stand up and go live, Dr. Osborn had complete confidence in its ability to pass it, saying that “he had never seen a comeback quite as incredible as John Deacon’s”.

The smile on Roger’s face as the cardiologist had said that had been so radiant, that for a moment it had erased all the signs of fatigue and heart break from his features, leaving him the incredibly handsome young man Freddie had met, all those years ago.

The drummer’s smile though, had gone into a full grin when Dr. Osborn had informed him that “due to psychological reasons” (which really meant that Dr. Evans had had a hand in it) they needed him to be present when they woke the object of his affections up.

Apparently, patients who had been under an induced coma for more than a week sometimes got aggravated when coming back to consciousness, some having panic attacks, others getting aggressive, and so they needed Roger to be there to calm Deaky down, in case it was necessary.

Of course, the blonde had been eager to do it. 

And the hour was upon them, for it had been 27 hours since John had gone back to breathing on his own. 

“What is that smirk for?” Said Roger suddenly, snapping Freddie out of his musings. 

He hadn’t realized he had been grinning, but it made sense, given what he had been thinking about “Deaky getting better. Brian smiling his real smile. Lily opening up to us. You, sane again”.

The drummer frowned, hitting the singer in the bicep lightly with the hand that wasn’t holding his tea “Hey!”

Freddie didn’t even try to avoid the fake punch, and rather giggled about it, feeling how his chest got lighter and lighter with each moment that passed by, appreciating deeply how it felt like not to be burned by worry. 

It was such a strange feeling, after what they had gone through, that he marveled at just how incredible it was when life went right. How many times had he taken for granted when nothing troubled him, when he could sleep at night and get beers with the guys in the pub and care about nothing but song writing and his cats?

How many times had he failed to appreciate those around him, the people that he loved and shared a life with, whose health and presence he always took as a given?

How many times had he taken his own health as a given?

He had been such an innocent creature before Deaky’s health crisis got to them, so immature and silly. He had seen nothing of the real depth of life around him, only caring about satiating his needs quickly and doing great music and not much else.

But now, as he laughed with his best friend in the most inhospitable (pun intended) of places, in the most weird of circumstances, he finally comprehended the importance of the air in his lungs, which he wasn’t even thinking about drawing in and out, the fact that nothing hurt him, that he could stand and run and dance, and yes sing.

It finally got to him just how extraordinary it was that he had found Roger and Brian and Deaky, that the four of them had united into the exotic mix that was Queen, and in that in Queen, he had found his soul brothers, where he belonged. 

He even understood how much of a blessing had been his time in Zanzibar, in India, and the circumstances that had brought him and his family to England, because without them, he would have never found himself in the exact moment that he was in now, which, despite coming after great pain, he would never change for a thing.

Because it had been that pain, he reflected, that had taught him just how darling were the seconds in front of him.

Sorrow, apparently, was a great teacher, and had a nack for the dramatic just as he did, for it made colors seem brighter once it passed, made the fluttering of hearts just a little more meaningful.

He promised himself then and there, that he would never forget this lesson, that he would always remember that life was a precious, capricious thing, to be loved and cherished, to be cared for and enjoyed, never to be taken for granted.

Just like a good cat. 

“Earth to Freddie? Are you there Fred? And you say I am the crazy one”.

“Sorry darling” answered the singer, turning his head in his neck to face the drummer and trying his best to honor what he had just been thinking by giving him his full attention “I was just reflecting on what this whole thing with Deaky almost dying has taught me”.

A shadow crossed over Roger’s eyes and it took Freddie about one second to recognize why. It had been his wording. 

Fuck, the blonde wasn’t as out of the dumps as his shoulders indicated he was. Freddie had celebrated his improvement too early, as he found he often did when it came to his drummer.

Completely mortified, he tried to fix his mistake by saying “I’m sorry Rog, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just wanted to let you know just how much everything we’ve gone through has meant for me, how much it has taught me about the importance of life and of caring for it….” He paused, the way the drummer had folded into himself after he had begun talking sending a sharp stab of guilt through him “Don’t… don´t look all sad again, I’m so sorry”.

He threw an arm around Roger’s shoulders, tugging him close. The blonde let himself be embraced by skinny arms, nuzzling his head into Freddie’s neck next to him, shuffling a little down the wall to be more comfortable.

At the movement, Lily and Brian stopped their conversation, both turning with inquisitive glances towards the singer, who only shook his head and vaguely gestured for them to continue talking.

Which they did, although a little less lively, throwing occasional looks their way to make sure everything was okay. 

Roger didn’t say anything for a while and Freddie, not wanting to screw everything up again, preferred to keep the silence, only making shushing sounds at the blonde every now and again.

After around 5 minutes, the drummer started talking, quickly but in a very low tone “It’s not your fault Fred. I know you meant well. Actually I know you were just using a very common turn of phrase and you were speaking the truth, it’s just that…the pain of almost loosing him is still too bloody close you know? Just yesterday I was watching him in the ICU and for a minute there I thought… I was sure that was the last time I was going to see him. And then Osborn comes with his good news and yeah, I was just overjoyed that I wasn’t loosing the love of my life and of course I feel such respite from being so worried and all the responsibility I had in my shoulders. I felt happy, for the first time since this started but then…I don´t know…it´s just this stupid brain, betraying me all the time. It keeps telling me that this is too much good luck. That John getting better can´t possibly be sustainable. Because you were right, he was almost dying, he looked as good as dead yesterday and now he is better? God” Roger covered his entire face with the hand that wasn’t holding his tea, the gesture muffling his next words “I’m just rambling now, I’m sure I make no fucking sense”.

“You do” replied the singer, his tone matching the blonde’s “of course you do. My darling boy” he caressed the drummer’s bicep with the hand attached to the arm that was around his shoulders “it makes perfect sense that you are still scared, that you learned to brace yourself for the worse out pure self preservation after being through so much misery. But you need to let go of that now. You have to trust the doctors, because they know what they are doing. You have to trust what you did for Deaky. Hell, you have to trust him and his body to get healthier, to get better, for you”.

Roger didn’t say anything again for a beat or two, and then “They haven’t given me much reason to trust them”.

“He is still alive darling” answered Freddie, continuing his soothing ministrations to the drummer’s arm in an effort to comfort him with his actions as much as with his words “He survived a surgery with a 60% death rate. Went back to breathing on his own just because you asked him too. Even his liver improved. I say you DO have a reason to trust him. Just as Dr. Osborn said” he repeated the cardiologist words looking for the same reaction he had gotten when he had uttered them “he made an incredible comeback, for you. Trust that. Trust in his love for you and your love for him carrying him through whatever is coming next”.

The singer could feel the blonde’s body sag completely against his own once he had finished speaking, and then a forehead burring into the juncture between his arm and his shoulder. And then a sigh. It wasn’t the same beaming the muscular doctor had gotten but at least Roger did seem a little more relaxed. What he had said had probably made sense to him then. Thank God.

There was another bout of silence, where the drummer got himself upright and took a sip of his now probably lukewarm tea. He made a face at it but continued drinking it anyway. 

Freddie took Roger’s free hand from where it had gone to rest at his side and caressed it, unable to stop himself from trying to appease the blonde. Because he recognized now that it hadn’t been his silly words that had brought the drummer’s spirits down but the fact that, deep inside, all the worry and pain he had gone through had carved their way into his bones and taken hold, convincing him that nothing would ever be okay again. That it simply couldn’t, and that he had to be prepared for the worse, if he wanted to survive.

His comment had just triggered the trauma Roger had accumulated, from watching the man he loved almost die. 

The singer wondered then if it was the same for Brian and Lily, and if all the love he had felt for their expressions had been misplaced. Had he just been a corny git thinking about the beauty of life going right when the rest of his people harbored deep pain in their souls, despite their postures?

Because he had felt the grief too, as much as the rest of them he was sure, the agony still a lingering memory, like when you burnt yourself and it stung for weeks and weeks after the fact. But for him, like he had thought previously, the anguish had been a great teacher, which had made him actually see the blessings in his life by comparing them to the sorrows. 

Was he too much of an optimistic little shit?

Roger spoke then and his tone seemed much lighter, to Freddie’s relief “You are right Fred. I know you are right. I have to trust life because even if it has kicked my ass so severely, and so many times, it also made Deaky breathe on his own again, and pull through the surgery, and that is everything I wanted out of it” he paused, eyebrows furrowed as in thought, and then a smile crossed his lips and though it was tiny, Freddie knew it was honest, for it touched his clear blue eyes “When I think of it, there are really many reasons for me to trust life. It made John love me and accept me, for starters, when I thought that could never happen. It gave me you and Brian, and though you guys are idiots you did help me face my feelings for Deaky, and then confess to him. You have held me up through all that we have been through, have had nothing but patience and love for me as I did, to be honest, went a little insane. I couldn’t have done this without you. It made my mother-in-love possibly the best human on this planet, after her son of course, and it made me a drummer, gave me music, which has not only saved my life time and time again but led me to all of you, even Lily. If I really want to get philosophical, when I look back to all that’s happened, life did put me to the test but it gave me everything and everyone I needed to pass said test. Through all of my life, whenever things have gone sour, there has always been something there to pull me out, as well as something better around the corner. So yes, life has not been half bad to me. On the contrary. I guess…”he took a deep breath and squeezed the singer’s hand “I guess I should be thankful to it. And trust it to pull John further out of this one. If it doesn’t though, I will. I already did once right?”

Freddie felt love for facial features again as he turned to gaze at the blonde and took a moment to really see his cerulean irises, which showed a vulnerability there that wasn’t often found and that shone in earnest. His face twisted itself in a grin, out of its own accord, and he almost shouted “that’s the spirit my dear. That is exactly the point!”.

Lily and Brian turned towards them at singer’s change in tone but went back to talking when they saw their faces, the scene in front of them sufficiently happy not to warrant their worry.

Freddie continued then, but in a much more conversational voice, while adjusting his fingers so that they stroke on the drummer’s rough palm “I know the shadows are still near Rog. I know it has been fucking hard. If it has been for me I can’t even fathom what it has been like for you. But you will see the sun again love. You will actually get to feel it in your skin. And the pain that is so close to you heart will fade, little by little, as time goes by. It always does. Because you know what? Life my dear, when it wants, can be very wonderful”.

“It can indeed” said Roger,  throwing his head back towards the wall and closing his eyes. 

A comfortable silence settled over them then, a silence in which the singer allowed himself to imagine having this conversation with Mrs. Deacon and Queen’s nerdy guitarist.

He didn’t know if they were harboring the same darkness Roger had inside of them but if he had been able to lighten the drummer’s load, as it seemed he had, even if only a little bit, with his corny musings about life being like a cat, then he would make sure to share them with them, talk to them, listen to them and soothe them to the best of his abilities, sharing some of the hope he had gathered from all this experience.

The memory of his impotence as he held Roger’s sobbing form in the ugly green bathroom outside the OR came to him then, and a weight he hadn’t realized he had been carrying left his shoulders.

Because this was what he could do to protect those he loved, he realized. This was what he could do to safeguard them from harm and sorrow. Share his ludicrous ideas, share his enthusiasm, try and infuse into them the reverence he now had for life and its ways, make them feel loved with every word that came out of his mouth. 

He was too much of an optimistic little shit but that was part of him, part of what made him Freddie Fucking Mercury. And being him was his super power, had always been, after all. He could use it to lift those around him and shield them from darkness with his light. 

The holes in his skin, the ones that had been mending ever since Deaky’s surgery, closed all together right then and there, specially after Roger turned and ruffled his hair with his free hand, a bright grin on his face “Who made you so wise all of a sudden Freddie Mercury?!”

“What are you talking about Roger Taylor, I’ve always been this amazing”.

“Of course you are Fred” answered Brian, from the drummer’s other side, his toothy smirk still in place. 

Mrs. Deacon looked at them and her face turned into a fond, tender expression, effectively sealing a moment Freddie would carry in his heart forever.

 

++++++++++++++++++

 

Roger hopped a little in his place, shifting his weight from the balls to the heels of his feet and back again.

He was shaking, but not from fear. 

Or well, that was what he was trying to tell himself. 

In reality, we was pretty scared, his very unhelpful brain telling him over and over again that something was going to go bad with John waking up.

He seemed to be at war with his brain ever since Dr. Osborn had told them all of Deaky’s apparently imminent recovery.

At first he had been happy, ohh so happy that he had somehow pulled off the impossible and his incoherent sobbing had managed to make John breathe on his own.

He had felt such an incredible sense of respite, such elation at the fact that he wasn’t going to loose the one he cared most about, that nothing but joy had lived in between his ribs for a while, the black hole and all of his misery forgotten for some blissful moments.

But it hadn’t lasted for long, because as soon as the shock of relief had worn off, some sort of shadow had formed in the back of his head, like a sticky substance the color of petrol, which seemed to infuse every one of this thoughts, tainting them, telling him that this happiness he was experiencing wouldn’t last for long, that it was an illusion and that the moment he actually allowed himself to feel it, everything would come crashing down around him.

He supposed it was normal, as Freddie had assured him, after all he had suffered. His brain just wanted to protect him from being further hurt, which was understandable really since he was sure his battered emotions couldn’t take much more than they already had. 

It was an instinct as old as time, part of human biology, of the wiring of every brain. And he would know, being a biologist and all.

But knowing why it happened didn’t make living with it any easier, and so now he found himself constantly fighting with this demon for dominance of his feelings, one minute hopeful, the other scared out of his wits.

Exactly like he was feeling now, only that maxed up to eleven, seeing that he was about to face one hell of an event.

One hand he was completely thrilled he was going to see John again. And not only because having him awake meant that he was healthier, but because he missed him. He missed him so dearly. Missed every one of his gestures, his voice, the way he frowned when he was being particularly stubborn about something.

He missed the way their conversations flowed easily and being able to tell him how he felt and he just…he needed to be with him, to be able to look him in the eye and see the most deep of grays, such quiet waters, staring back at him.

His heart needed somewhere to put all this love that kept exploding inside him, to be able to express it, give it to whom it belonged, or it was going to finish tearing it´s tatters apart. 

On the other hand though, his demon kept running a thousand different scenarios at the same time in his head of just how bad things could go with Deaky´s awakening, going from the plausible (John having a panic attack that affected his lungs so badly that he had to go back to being tubed and everything that came with it) to the completely crazy (Deaky waking up and not remembering him, the guys or the fact that he had agreed to let him in once he got better). 

Fuck, he just felt like such a mess all the time. 

Why was he such an emotional person again?

How was he still somewhat sane? 

Was he really sane?

Flora, the nurse he now knew had helped him just a day ago as his world crumbled apart, touched his elbow gingerly then, whispering as if not to surprise him “It’s time Mr. Taylor”.

He nodded, pushing all of his complicated mess of emotions to the side, and followed her from the nurses´ station, where he had been left waiting for Dr. Osborn and the other nurses to do whatever they needed to do to wake Deaky up, to said man’s room.

He took a deep breath as they approached the place, stealing himself for the view ahead, knowing it had brought him down to his knees once and that it could do it again.

Though no one had told him this time (not Brian or even Dr. Evans, who he had had nothing to do with after their first meeting thankfully, though was clear from his presence there that was still involved in John’s treatment) he knew that he had to be strong now, and brave. 

No, that was wrong. 

He didn’t need to be strong and brave, he wanted to be strong and brave, wanted to be there for Deaky in any capacity that he might need him to be, wanted to help him and shield him from everything and all. 

He took another deep breath, trying to calm down his over protectiveness.

Damn, he had always been a guardian, had been so, a little intensely he had to admit, to John through the time he had been in the hospital, but what he felt now wasn’t his normal tendency to defend. It was something much more instinctual, involuntary, an almost animalistic need to make sure Deaky was secure, no matter what it costed him.

He scared himself a little, with this sudden fierceness that had been born out of seeing John in the ICU with a tube sticking down his throat, but in the end understood (again, god, he needed to be so compassionate with his stupid, stupid, self for all the things he was feeling and thinking) that this was just another payoff of having seen John in danger without having been able to do something about it. 

Ohh, how annoyed he was going to be, when he made a full recovery and Roger didn’t let him out of his sight for more than a minute.

Ohh how much they were going to fight about it.

Finally, they arrived at Deaky’s room, entering it, but standing at the edge, as nurses still walked around adjusting and moving things.

Right out of the gate, the drummer noticed that John had no infamous tube down his throat.

A weight the size of Sussex fell off his shoulders, his primal vigilance releasing it´s grip on his throat just a little bit.  

Of course, there was no _thud, thud, thud_ from the respirator, since it wasn’t there anymore, and the amount of cables attached to the bassist´s body had went down from a million, to only three.

There were still more monitors than the blonde would have liked, and more fluids bags on the IV stand than he had previously accounted for, but he had to admit, there was a huge difference from just 28 hours ago. 

The room looked a little brighter, much less menacing. Even the air felt lighter, much more breathable.

A heavy hand descended on his shoulder then, a hand he had come to know by now. It was Dr. Osborn´s.

“Well, my boy, we’ve done everything we had to” he said, as the nurses exited the room, Flora with them “now, it’s up to John. He must wake up in the next ten minutes or so, though it wouldn’t surprise me if it took him a little longer. He has been under for a long time. I’ll leave you alone in the room with him, but I will be observing just from outside. Once he comes to, if everything seems alright, I’ll come in an explain a bit of what happened to him”.

Roger nodded, his palms breaking into a sweat. He swallowed “And what if things…don’t seem alright…if he panics or… well…what do I do?”

“Evans said you should talk to him. Just talk to him. Whatever comes to mind. You already did a great job at this, I’m sure you’ll know what to say. But don’t worry, if things don’t go alright I’ll be here with the nurses in a second to control the medical aspects of it all, okay? I’ll be watching just from outside”.

The drummer nodded again, dreading the faith the cardiologist seemed to have in him. 

“You’ll be fine” he finished, squeezing his shoulder so tightly it hurt, and then leaving the place with heavy footsteps, closing the door behind him and coming to stand, as he had said, directly behind the glass window of the ICU room.

Roger hesitated, finding himself at a loss of what to do.

Before he could think about it much though, his legs started walking on their own, carrying him quickly to Deaky’s bedside. His heart was leading the way, he realized, drowning his concern for what was about to happen in his need to be by the bassist’s side.

Once near John, his hands acted out of their own accord, one taking John’s own from where it was cold at the man’s side, the other going to caress his forehead.

The drummer dared a peek down his love’s body and saw basically the same picture he had seen the day before. Tubes sticking out of ribs. Ribs about to burst through skin. Dark, red, stapled scar.

However, Deaky’s skin did seem a little less translucent, and when he turned to really look at the man’s face, it wasn’t as gaunt as it had been.

Maybe John’s body had been affected by the same thing that had made the room feel a little less stuffed and hot to Roger when he had come in.

Maybe, John was just getting better.

Instinct overtook the blonde again and he leaned into the man, brushing his nose to his, making sure he didn’t upset the oxygen cannula that had replaced the blue straps of the breathing tube around his love’s cheeks.

As he went upright, he started humming a melody, which, he had no idea, but it was sweet and it was fair, and it came out of his lungs just for Deaky, reverberating softly from his throat to the rest of the room.

How long was he like that, he couldn’t tell if you asked him. 

But he stroke his love’s brow, and held his hand on his, and sang his little lullaby until John squeezed his hand weakly.

Startled, fearful and thrilled at the same time, Roger squeezed gently back, cleaning his throat a little as emotion blocked his airways and then said, in a very scratchy voice “Hey my love. Welcome back”.

He continued caressing the bassist’s forehead, as the man grunted and moved minutely, his eyes still closed. 

“I want to see those pretty eyes of yours, you hear me Deacon, open them for me please”.

Uncertainty clenched his gut as John stilled and said nothing.

One beat, two beats, three beats.

And then a dry cough, which sounded painful, as if gravel was grinding into stone. 

“Now you are using the _for me_ Rog? That’s a low blow, considering…” another cough “everything”.

And then John opened his eyes. 

Roger could have passed out from the happiness he felt at that moment. Every single one of his worries, of his pains and doubts, the black hole, the demon, everything just faded into background noise as he saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, for Deaky’s irises weren’t the deep gray he remembered but rather, they were a light gray, tinted everywhere with green.

A tear slipped out his own eyes and then another, and then another. 

He cupped his hands delicately around John’s cheeks and then leaned in again, tapping his forehead with his love’s, cherishing every breath he heard the bassist take, loving every raise and fall of his chest, adoring every beep his heart monitor made.

It took Deaky a second to focus his sight but when he did, he raised his hands, a little shaky as they were, a little weak and encumbered by his IV line and some cables, and tried to put them somewhere in the drummer’s body.

One managed his shoulder, the other his waist.

His brow furrowed as he said, his tone almost a whisper “Rog, why are you crying? Are you okay?” He coughed a little more, the sounds becoming raspier and raspier “please don’t cry like that, you are going to break my heart”.

In any other time, the blonde would have completely lost it at those words, for he couldn’t possibly fathom how John’s first sentences after coming back from the death were of concern for his well being.

But that was Deaky, his Deaky. Using his last words to his mom to make sure she took care of him. Using his first words as he woke up from a fucking induced coma to make sure he was alright. So, so kind. 

So damn loving. 

He was overwhelmed with love for the man then, and so without any repair for where he was or what he was doing, he leaned in and brushed his lips tenderly to John’s chapped ones, only for a second, but trying to put all of his feelings into it, all of his gratefulness that he was alive, all of the fucking joy he felt at his mere existence, all his devotion to and for him. 

He could feel the bassist smile into the kiss, and whatever fear might have been lingering at the back of his mind, however anemic, that something was going to go badly with the situation at hand, vanished.

Just then, because all good things come to an end and what Roger had done had been more than a little impulsive, Dr. Osborn came marching in, almost screaming “When I told you you would know what to do son, I didn’t mean this! Please, step aside from the patient!”.

John coughed again but it sounded more like a snort to Roger, who went upright in a moment and turned to look at the cardiologist, grinning his biggest grin “you said I would be fine. Now I am”.

“It’s not funny” replied the doctor.

“It is Dr. You have to admit it” said Deaky then, struggling to get upright himself.

But the drummer didn’t allow him to, pushing him as gently as he could down into the hospital mattress by the shoulder, and fumbling with the mechanism to put the head of the bed in a vertical position, after he had exchanged a couple of glances with Dr. Osborn that confirmed he could do this.

Once perpendicular, the cardiologist gave John a sip of water from a nearby plastic cup with a straw, warning him “slow, slow gulps son. You have been tubed for some time now, your throat will be raw and raspy, as I’m sure you already feel, and your stomach will be upset. We want to avoid throwing up, if possible. Your chest still needs to heal”.

Deaky’s eyes closed as he gulped down the water, coughing a bit between sips. He did looked relieved, but when he was done and Dr. Osborn had taken the cup away from him, he scowled, a ghost of uneasiness passing through his features “What do you mean I have been tubed for some time…I…? Ohh God, the surgery… how did I…? What happened?”

Roger would have killed people to erase the way John’s face was twisted in worry, but since he couldn’t do it now, he settled for grabbing his hand again on his own and massaging it. 

“I won’t lie John, you scared us several times. But, the surgery was pretty much a success, since we could unblock your heart valve enough that so far, your heart is showing us signs of recovery. After the surgery though, your lungs had problems so we had to put you on a respirator. Hence, the tubbing. Your liver didn’t hold up as well as we expected but is getting better and better everyday, as your breathing has too, obviously, since you are awake and only have an oxygen cannula. Though I’m thinking we are changing it to a mask as soon as you don’t have company. You still have weeks and weeks of recovery ahead of you, but like I told your… friend” he trailed off, obviously uncomfortable at the prospect of calling Roger Deaky’s significant other despite the fact that they had been kissing just 5 minutes ago “you have come back from things most of my patients don’t. Your body is strong. You are strong. And well, this young man did have a hand in you getting better, but you should ask him about that yourself”.

John turned to look at the blonde then, tilting his head a bit, flashing his gorgeous eyes at him “what did you do?”

“I’ll tell you later” mumbled the drummer, shy for the first time in his life. 

“That later will have to wait son, for your mother wants to see you and after all this time, I think she deserves it. Now” he turned to look at the blonde, staring him down intently “I will leave you with him while I get Mrs. Deacon but the nurses will be watching your every move. No funny business”.

The bassist laughed out loud then, coughing between mouthfuls of air, so that when he spoke, his voice was winded “Ohh doc, you have seen nothing yet”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Deaky would have had an oxygen mask on him coming from being tubed but the damn contraption would have made the kiss impossible and the boys really wanted to kiss, so, as I have been saying time and time again, medical procedures have been modified in the pretext of romance!
> 
> No, I'm not sorry.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out much more angsty than I was expecting but it is emotional payoff for everything that had been happening inside Brian's head that we haven't been seeing, since we had focused so much on Roger and his process through the ICU.
> 
> I'm an angst writer, no matter what I try. 
> 
> It still has fluff in it though, and family feels. 
> 
> Promise.

“Rog” whispered Brian, trying to keep his voice as low as he could so that he wouldn’t wake Deaky up, who had been in peaceful slumber ever since he had been brought up from the ICU to what was to be his room until he got discharged from the hospital “you are staring at John again”.

“For the hundredth time Bri, fuck off” mumbled the blonde, clearly trying to keep his voice just as soft as the guitarist’s and failing, the upset undertone to it very clear in the way his inflection got louder at the end of his sentence.

Deaky shuffled a little in his bed and both men turned to look at him pointedly, holding their breaths as if to stop themselves from making any further noise that could disturb the bassist. 

But John merely scratched his nose with his IV free hand and went back to stillness, apparently as deeply asleep as he had been before Brian had told Roger off for gawking at his boyfriend (were they officially together? The guitarist suddenly realized he didn’t know for sure) for what probably was the 20th time in the past hour. 

Both the blonde and the brunette sighted in unison, the crisis thankful averted. 

Because the last thing both of them wanted was to wake Deaky up, when he was in such dire need of rest.

Dr.Osborn had warned them all, before he gave his blessing to release the bassist from intensive care after four long days of supervision once he had come back to consciousness, that though John was out of danger and much, much better, he still had a long path ahead of him before he was a 100% healthy, and that in said path sleep and rest where not only required, but an absolute necessity. 

Since Deaky’s chest had become incredibly weak after being ripped open and then hooked to a respirator for a long time, the mare act of breathing now felt like a marathon to him, taking so much effort from his frail muscles that it zapped away most of his energy. 

That, along with the blood loss he had had while in surgery and the fact that he was so skinny that he was practically just skin and bones, meant that he was in the most physically fragile condition in which he could be, the only solution for his state being bed rest and care.

Along with medical supervision, of course, since he was still hooked to what seemed to Brian like a million IVs.

Thankfully though, his liver was working normally again, his breathing rate was stellar and his heart, strong as it had always been, seemed to be doing its job as well as could be expected, given the trauma it had been under.

So the cardiologist had made them promise, as he had signed the necessary paper work to allow the four of them to be in the man’s room while in visiting hours (which was highly unorthodox, as Dr. Evans often said, but had been approved as an exception given how much John’s loved ones had influenced his incredible improvement), that they would stay as quiet and calm as they could, so that they wouldn’t bother Deaky or any other of the patients in his floor.

He had made them swear that they would allow John to sleep as much as he wanted, unencumbered, would make sure he ate his doctor approved meals and wouldn’t stand up or do anything by himself other than go to the bathroom. 

Of course, Brian, Lily, Freddie and Roger had all agreed to the terms, given that they would have done what Dr. Osborn had asked of them anyways.

Because, despite the relief they all felt at Deaky’s improved status, they had all been pretty shaken by how close the man had come to dying and were very concerned about his feeble situation, so much so that all of their mother hen instincts had flared up to the point in which John had begun complaining about their protectiveness while he was still in the ICU, even though they only got to see him in brief ten minute slots, one at a time. 

Brian had thought ten minutes was not sufficient time to smother someone enough for them to lament about it, but apparently, he had been wrong. 

Or Deaky was just too damn independent and stubborn, which was actually so much the case that the guitarist was afraid they would all end up killing each other before he even made it out of the hospital.

Of course, the most affected by the “mother hen syndrome", as John had starting calling it, was Roger.

He had always been protective to everyone, had been much more towards Deaky since he had been admitted into the hospital but now, he had gone full guardian dog mode, being at his side at all times, making sure he was comfortable always, almost barking at whomever approached him that wasn’t the four of them or Dr. Osborn.

He had been kicked out of the ICU several times through the days John had been there under observation and evaluation, in fact, having scared several of the nurses so much by questioning who they where and what they were doing to Deaky with a stance so menacing and a tone so severe, that they had ended up calling security.

It had only been by the grace of their now almost friend cardiologist that he had been allowed back into intensive care to see the bassist, since the man knew how important the blonde was to his patient.

Brian had thought that once John was out of the ICU and back amongst them Roger would relax a little, but he had been very wrong, because the drummer had seldom taken his eyes off Deaky since he had fallen asleep, his eyes coming time and time again to the way his chest went up and down with every one of his breaths.

Shit.

That was why the drummer had been staring at John so intently since he had left the ICU, it suddenly dawned on the guitarist, because he was afraid that he would stop breathing, now that he was less monitored than he had been since the surgery. 

Looking at Roger for another moment confirmed Brian´s theory, since he noticed that when the blonde´s eyes weren’t trained on Deaky, they were scanning all of the monitors in the wall of the room, which reported on his vitals.

Regret, bitter and cold, invaded the guitarist’s gut, shame at his relentless teasing of his best friend making him feel like he wanted to dig a hole in the ground, burry himself in it, and never come out. 

How had it taken him so long to realize why Roger was acting the way he did?

How had he been so insensitive? 

When he was the first one to be a mother hen towards the others, the first one to admit that they were all still scared and worried about the Deaky, the first one that had been terribly concerned about how Roger was going to fare though all the pain that came along with having the one that he loved most almost dying.

How had he not understood that what the blonde was doing, every single aspect of his behavior that had annoyed him, answered to his need to safeguard John, because he was still afraid something might go wrong, something else might happen to him?

His lack of empathy, of basic human compassion, astounded him. And towards someone that he said he loved, someone he had been actively trying to take care of, someone he had promised himself he was going to help come out of this situation unharmed, if it ended him.

Disappointment at himself joined regret and shame in his stomach, and he had to swallow hard and take a deep breath in order to keep his feelings from overwhelming him. 

No, this wasn’t about him. 

His feelings, how bad he felt about his attitude, weren’t the point right now. 

It was about how he had hurt someone he had wanted to save, with his silly discontent, with his highly inappropriate comments. 

So he pushed his emotions away, ushering them to a corner like he always did, and focused on action, something he had always been good at. 

He stood up from where he had been sitting on the ground of Deaky´s room, his bum complaining because it had known nothing but floors through the past three weeks, and walked as quietly as he could to stand at the blonde´s side, putting a hand on his shoulder and then squeezing it.

Roger tore, with almost visible effort, his eyes off John´s chest to look up at Brian, arching an eyebrow at him in silent question.

“What now? Are you going to nag me more?” he mouthed, his lips going into a straight line once he was done expressing his message. 

There was hurt in the blonde’s blue eyes and that, along with the deep shadows that had become a fixture of the drummer’s features (Roger was still not sleeping, even with Deaky being better. The reason was very clear to the guitarist now that he had thought about it. Ohh god, how had he been such an ass?), made the cold in Brian’s stomach ache a little more, cut a little deeper.

He had to fix his mistake, and he had to do it now. 

So with sigh he shook his head slowly from one side to the other and mouthed back “I’m sorry”. But the words didn’t seem like enough, didn’t fully expressed how ashamed he was of his actions so he added “for being such a dick”.

The offended look in Roger’s eyes disappeared, just like that, instantly almost, at his tiny admission, and the chill in his gut eased a little.

A slow, tiny smile appeared on the drummer’s lips instead, and he shook his head also, his hand coming to pat his own where it was on his shoulder “It’s okay Bri” he whispered this time, though his voice was so faint that the guitarist was sure only he had heard it “I know you didn’t mean any harm by it” he paused, hesitated, and then grinned up at him “it’s just part of you being a dick”.

The reaction inside Brian at this words was a contradiction.

On one side, his chest filled itself up with a warm, fuzzy feeling, affection towards the blonde, almost making him launch himself into a full blown hug of the man, wanting to transmit to him somehow just how much he appreciated his kindness, the person he was, that was willing to let go so easily of his mistakes, and with a smirk nonetheless. 

The other felt further shame at his actions, because, how could he have shown such crassness at someone so considerate? A small part of him wondered if he deserved Roger’s easy absolution, if he deserved such amazing friends at all.

As if on queue, Freddie and Mrs. Deacon arrived at that exact moment, both coming back from finishing the administrative process required to move patients out of the ICU and into regular hospitalization. 

They were laughing quietly, whispering things to each other like two naughty school girls.

The same tender feeling he had just had for Roger invaded the guitarist’s ribcage at the sight, followed by the same uneasiness, that tiny thing in his head that told him that he didn’t deserve what he had in front of him, time and time again.

Freddie, of course completely unaware of the breakdown going on inside the guitarist’s head, beamed at them as he approached them, taking a sit on the side of Deaky´s bed where he didn’t bother the bassist and muttered at them “Why, hello my darlings, what are you doing standing here in a position typical of 19th century portraits?”

The blonde chuckled lightly at the singer’s smart ass remark, and answered, his gaze going back to John’s chest “Bri was just apologizing for being a dick”. 

Freddie’s hands went to his chest in offense, his brow furrowing deeply “Our Brian is not a dick!” He said, his tone of voice raising to an almost normal level out of indignation “he is the most considerate soul I know”.    

Roger turned to look at the singer apprehensively, putting a finger to his lips and then using the same finger to point at Deaky. 

“Sorry darling” answer Freddie, his voice much lower now “just got incensed you could throw such a false statement at this gentle giant, that’s all”.

The drummer threw his head back so he could see Brian in the eyes, his gaze full of fondness “He is a gentle giant” he offered, but then added, looking down to grin at the singer “but he can also be a dick”.

A snort coming from Freddie’s left made them all turn towards the bed, where John was watching them, grey eyes wide open, a beautiful, doting smile on his lips “You are all idiots, you know?”

“But they are wonderful idiots” added Lily, coming to stand on the other side of Deaky’s bed, and bowing to take her son’s hand on her own “But, as wonderful as they are, I will kick them out of this room right now unless” she turned to look at them, a look of mock anger on her face “they shut up and let you sleep”.

“They didn’t wake me momma” said John, with the velvety tone Brian had noticed he only used when addressing his mum, which had a hint of sweetness,  a touch of boyishness to it “I’ve been up for a little time now, just was too tired to open my eyes. Also“ he added, and it was his time to smirk “I wanted to spy on the wonderful idiots”.

“You cheeky little bastard” said Freddie, his voice as full of annoyance as it was of tenderness. Then, as if realizing what he had just said and most importantly, in front of whom, he winced, and turned to face Mrs. Deacon, an apologetic shrug on his shoulders “I’m sorry Lily”.

“Now, now children” she said, looking completely unfazed by the comment “be good brothers, there has been enough name calling for now”.

“Deaky started it” replied Roger, his eyes looking down from the man’s monitors to gaze at his face “But honestly, love, how are you feeling? How tried are you? If your mum doesn’t, then I will kick these idiots out so that you can rest”.

John put his IV free hand up, covering his face, and then grunted “are you every going to stop treating me as if I was a baby chicken?”

“No” answered Roger, Freddie, Brian and Lily in unison.

“Bloody hell” muttered the bassist back, wincing just like Freddie had at cursing in front of his mother and adding quickly “Sorry momma”.

“You know what son? I’ve been around Roger enough for me to be getting used to it by now” she said, turning her face to see the blonde where he was sitting, Brian’s hand still in his shoulder, his own still on top of his hand “That doesn’t mean I approve of it” she said, furrowing her nose in apparent distaste “no matter how much I love the boy”.

“You love my boyfriend?” Said John, releasing his face from his hand and turning his head to gaze back and forth between Lily and Roger, dramatic consternation on his features “That’s not fair. Only I can love him. I call on treason”. 

Brian didn’t miss Roger’s body tensing beneath his hand when Deaky called him his boyfriend, or the way his eyebrows shoot up to hide beneath his blonde fringe. It was apparent to him then that his wondering of whether the drummer and John were officially together was quite on point, because, from what he could read from the blonde’s reaction at least, it was something he didn’t have very clear either. He vaguely recalled Roger saying they were in a relationship sometime in the horrible situation that had been the green bathroom of the OR, but the tension had been so high back then, that the drummer might have just blurted something out of stress to Freddie without thinking about it.

The strain in the blonde’s body lasted for only a minute though, because the moment he heard Deaky saying only he could love him his shoulders slumped and he practically became mush, the smile on his lips so massive Brian was worried it might split his face. 

Before Mrs. Deacon could answer her son, Freddie interjected, saying in a playful tone “That’s unfortunate Deaks, because you are going to have to call treason on all of us, because we all love this blonde thot, right gentle giant?”

That name again.

Brian had been keeping silent through the conversation his family was having because his brain had short-circuited the moment Freddie had called him _the most considerate soul I know._ And then, had further fried when the moniker _gentle giant_ had been thrown his way, Roger confirming it readily with what he could only name as affection in his gaze.

If that hadn’t been enough, Lily had then called them all, as in the three of them, _wonderful idiots_ , which was the best description he could think of of his three best friends, but that he couldn’t comfortably apply to himself.

He was just an idiot. 

Not a wonderful one. 

Why were they being so kind to him?

Couldn’t they see the same thing he saw, when he looked at himself?

Someone that, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t have the minimum amount of decency needed to be a good friend? Who despite his best efforts to protect those he loved couldn’t, because he lacked the effortless kindness that Freddie had, or the unconditional love that was evident in every one of Roger’s actions or the softness of Lily’s ways?

There was something wrong with him, something intrinsically wrong with the way he was wired, because for the life of him he kept failing at everything he tried to do, at everything he cared about.

He had known it since he had been a boy, that some part of him was broken, but rather than mop and cry about it, he had attempted to deal with it, really did, putting every single one of his cells, all of his energy, into being the only thing he honestly, truly, had ever wanted to be: a good person. 

But he wasn’t one, goodness wasn’t in his bones, and it didn’t matter that he knew there was love, heaps of it, inside of him, because he just couldn’t express it right, it didn’t show where it needed to, it didn’t permeate him enough to let him have empathy towards Roger, or treat him with basic decency at a moment in which he so clearly needed support.

No.

His love was stunned inside his ribcage because it knew, just as he did, that the rest of him, damn it, wasn’t good enough.

Why hadn’t Freddie, Roger, Lily and Deaky seen that? Why hadn’t they figured out he didn’t deserve their love, because he couldn’t love them back in a functional, satisfying way?

“Brian, dear, are you okay?” Freddie’s voice reached the guitarist’s ears as if it came from a far away land, and suddenly it dawned on him that he hadn’t answered the question the singer had thrown at him. Fuck, he didn’t even remember what it had been. 

“What?” He spluttered inelegantly, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. 

He breathed and blinked several times, attempting to reign back the avalanche of self pity that had trampled him, but finding himself unable to.

The hand on top of his tightened and the soft voice of Deaky filled the silence “Bri?”

He sniffled and tried to plaster the most genuine smile he could on his face. He wasn’t a good person and he didn’t deserve this people, but he loved them dearly, and even if he kept being unsuccessful at showing it to them, even if he wasn’t what they needed or treated them as they were entitled to, he was going to continue attempting to give them what he had, even if it was not enough, to earn himself the right to be there with them.

“I’m fine” he lied, straightening up and giving Roger’s hand a final squeeze before pulling his arm up and behind his back “I guess I’m just a little tired, wasn’t paying much attention. Sorry guys.”

4 sets of eyes glared at him intently.

Obviously, no one had believed him. 

“Bri” said John, straightening a little in his cot too “I am bed ridden and have enough pain killers in my blood to make anyone loopy, and even in my state, I know for a fact that you are not alright. Could you care to tell us what is going on?”

“You sir” interrupted the drummer “need to go back to sleep now. I’m not asking you, this is an order. Lily will stay here to watch over you and Fred and I will go take care of the gentle giant, okay?”

Hearing the damn nickname again felt like a punch in the stomach for Brian but he kept on inhaling and exhaling, schooling his features in the most neutral expression he could as he said “there is absolutely no need. I’m perfectly alright. Rog, you don’t have to leave Deaky, I’m honestly just a little weary”.

“You are a terrible liar Brian” said Mrs. Deacon, smiling gently at him. Then she turned to Roger “go. Don’t worry about him” she pointed her chin towards John, who had the biggest frown on his face the guitarist had ever seen “I’ll look after him, and make sure he rests”.

“I’m not a baby and I don’t need to rest” Pouted John, but the expression on his face told another story, as did the yawn he tried to hide on his elbow. 

Freddie stood up, and gave the bassist a tiny peck on the forehead as he said “Sleep now baby chicken, before Dr. Osborn, or worse, Dr. Evans come and revoke our visiting privileges”.

“But I too want to make sure Bri is okay” Deaky said, his grey eyes meeting Brian’s hazel ones with such warmth in them that for a second, the guitarist felt his soul heal. 

God, he wanted everything but to upset John, so he filled his tone with all the wellbeing that minute in the sun had made him feel and said honestly “I’m okay Deaks. There is nothing to worry about. If you want to help me, take a nap. That’s how you make sure I’m okay”.

“Being sick is the worst” muttered the bassist, but closed his eyes anyways, exhaustion pulling him under the second his eyelids were closed, his even breath giving away the heavy slumber he had fallen into. 

Mrs. Deacon looked at her son in a mirror of the expression John had sported the first time Brian had met Lily, when she had first stood up for them with Dr. Osborn and called them family, a mix of pride and awe that made the lines in her face smooth out “He was very tired, from the beginning, but he was making an effort to be with you all, even if for a little bit. He really loves you lot” she closed her eyes, rubbing at them before opening their full force and settling it on Brian “You know what he used to tell me about you, before this?”

The guitarist couldn’t answer, so he shook his head instead.

“That you were the most intelligent and kind man he had ever met. That you cared deeply about others, about everything, and that you never made it seem like a burden, because your care was born out of genuine interest, of genuine love. And that you were such a perfectionist he sometimes wanted to murder you”.

Roger and Freddie both laughed out loud at the last part of Lily’s statement but swallowed their cackles as soon as they had come, both standing and grabbing Brian by the arms and pulling him out of John’s room almost in sync. 

Once outside, they took him to the corner of the floor where they knew they wouldn’t be bothered, out of previous experience. 

The singer set himself at his side, putting a comforting arm around his waist, and the drummer stood in front of him, staring intently at his face as he began talking, his tone solemn “Brian, you do know I am not happy leaving Deaky alone, yes?”

“He is not alone darling, his mother is with him”.

“I’m not with him, it’s not right” answered the blonde at Freddie, exasperated. 

“Then go back to him Rog, I told you there is no…”

“Shut it. Now, I left him in the frankly lax hands of Lily because I know what is happening in that little brain of yours. God, I can almost feel the wheels inside your head turning, making you feel guilty for telling me off so many times for staring at Deaky. Am I correct?”

Both the directness and the accuracy of Roger’s insights about what was going on inside him took Brian aback, making him stutter as he replied a weak “yes”.

He felt himself wobble a little, and the singer’s arm went tighter around him, holding him close to his body heat and making the cold in his stomach settle further. 

The drummer’s demeanor suddenly went from very irritated to open and loving in the fraction of a second.

The capability Roger had to go from one emotion to its opposite in a flash never ceased to amaze Brian. He couldn’t understand how someone could have the emotional range and the bravery to feel so much when all he ever wanted to do with his feelings was avoid them.

“Bri” said the blonde, his voice soft “you do know you are human, right?”

“Huh?” Was all he could answer, for the didn’t know what Roger meant. 

“What Rog is trying to say, my dear” supplemented Freddie “is that you are not perfect, are not meant to be and are allowed to make mistakes”. 

The drummer took Brian’s hand that wasn’t trapped between his and the singer’s body, on his own and put his other one on top of the guitarist’s chest, near his heart “I’ve never understood why you are so hard with yourself Brian May. I see it, every day that I am with you, that shadow that goes in front of your eyes when you think you didn’t get something right. Whether it’s a guitar solo or being irked at me for acting completely mental about John’s safety, I see how you are always disapproving of yourself, of your efforts. Never truly allowing yourself to be without checking yourself, without struggling to do everything right. You are a person Bri. You are allowed to not always be kind. You can be angry at me or annoyed at me, because honestly, sometimes I am annoying”

“You are”

“Shut up Freddie”

“Anyways, mate, you are one of the most dedicated, loving people I know, and like John kindly pointed out through his mum, you are always looking out for everyone, making sure we are alright”.

The blonde turned to his gaze to the ground, his tone suddenly sad “I don’t know what I would have done without you, through all that we have been through, without your talks in the middle of the night or the way you always brought me blankets when I was cold or your support Bri. Your support meant everything to me. You always gave me hope, from the beginning of this, from the time I couldn’t even face my feelings for Deaky, you gave me strength and helped me believe in impossible things and I…” he trailed off, and collected his hands from where they were on Brian’s body to wipe at his cheeks.

He was crying, realized the guitarist with shock, Roger was crying because of him, but it wasn’t as if it was his fault, but rather, because he had made the man overwhelmed with emotions… emotions that sounded an awful lot like… gratitude?

He kept on listening, trying to gather evidence to support his claim. 

“I couldn’t have done this without you. Without you either Freddie” he said, quickly glancing at the singer, who waved a dismissive hand his way, in a gesture that suggested he knew what he meant “but your calm always helped me be calm. Every time I saw you strong as I tree I knew I could hold on to that strength and burrow from it, so that I wouldn’t go crazier than I already was. Please, don’t berate yourself for not being the edification of devotion and dedication in human form once because you have been exactly that, to all of us, and we haven’t done shit for you… so please mate…”

Brian was overpowered by his feelings, because now he knew for certain that what had made Roger cry was appreciation, it was thankfulness for his help, for his… love.

He hadn’t failed at taking care of the drummer, because here he was, grateful for the service he had provided for him, for his actions, for not letting him go off the deep end. 

He had… he had achieved his goal.

“Don’t say that” he answered then, his voice raspy from holding back his own tears “you have done everything for me. You have been my friends and allowed me to be with you, to belong to you, become my family, when I am sure I don’t deserve you…” the words slipped out of his tongue as the treacherous tears started streaming down his face, both unwanted, both not meant to see the light of day.

“What?” Roared Freddie and Roger at the same time. 

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard darling” ranted the singer, his voice going a mile a minute, probably to try and keep up with his brain “Because you know what? The ones that probably don’t deserve you, is us, but we don’t care, because we love you. Rog, me and even John, let’s be honest, before this happened, only gave a shit about our own things. About our music, and our vices, and our studies but you dear, as much of a nerd as you are, have always had an eye out for other people, for the wellbeing of the world, and have concerned yourself with becoming the best god damn person you can be, not only an amazing guitarist, but a good human, and that just comes to show the quality of your soul, besides everything you have done for us. I just can’t fathom how you can’t see that, no matter what, you are kind to the bone Brian. Not even because of what you do but because you just are. That is your nature” Freddie’s words, in a weird twist of fate, echoed Brian’s past trail of thought, and that, along with the intensity he had imprinted in every one of his sentences, finished putting out the cold that had gathered in the guitarist’s gut when this whole mess had begun, taking with it his shame, regret and disappointment in himself. 

Roger took that moment to clear the tear tracks from his cheeks with his hands, as had done so many times before for him, and said “can you accept that Bri? can you see what we see when we look at you?”

Brian considered the evidence. 

If he had taken care of Roger successfully, and made a difference to his passing through the hell they had faced, then that meant that there was nothing wrong with the way he was wired, because his efforts did pay off.

He didn’t fail at everything, he didn’t fail at making the people he cared about feel love and that also meant that he could express the love inside of him right, and that… the only logical explanation to that was that… he was decent, he was…good enough. 

And if he was good enough, and believed what Freddie had just told him, which he did, because he trusted the man with his life, then that meant that he was… he was a good person. 

For the first time in his life he couldn’t feel the doubt that had nagged at his insides since forever, telling him that what he was simply wouldn’t do.

He felt at peace with himself, knowing that yes, his bones were good and his heart was full of love but he was human, which meant he didn’t have to be feel perfectly, or only feel good things, or only be strong.

He got to feel other emotions, get angry or desperate or upset, because they didn’t take his goodness away from him. They didn’t make him any less.

He didn’t even try to stifle his tears as they flowed now, because they felt like a liberation. Like all he had pent up inside him, from the fear of John dying to the stress of every single day in the ICU, even ancient tension from his time at college and the early days of Smile, was finally being set free.

He found he no longer feared his feelings, didn’t try to push them aside for the good of others, because said others were there with him, for him, holding him throw his sobs.

His face ended up in Freddie’s shoulder, the arms of the singer coming full circle behind his waist. Roger’s own arms came around the two of them, resting his cheek at the side of the guitarist’s hair.

The embrace only lasted for a beat of two, because the blonde parted with them quickly, saying as he left “Fred, take care of Bri okay? I feel like he has some crying still left in him. I, for my part, have to go check on our bassist”.

Brian could feel Freddie nodding, and then the whispered “go. Be with your bassist. I’ll take care of our guitarist”.

Said guitarist smiled into their singer’s shirt, and let himself be held, allowing another’s person’s love, to sink into his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we near the end of the fic, the chapters will start coming to the conclusions of the emotional journeys our boys have been through, just as this one.
> 
> Last chapter was Freddie's, this was Brian's, and so that means we are only missing Roger and John.
> 
> I expect this to go up to 15, maybe 16 chapters.
> 
> How would you lot feel about some life affirming smut to end the story? Too out of character? Should I just focus on the fluff? 
> 
> Tell me how you feel.
> 
> And also, thank you for reading. I love you all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is, I'm sorry this took me so long. 
> 
> I still hope you enjoy it, though.
> 
> There are a lot of tears in it (can I write a chapter where the boys don't cry? I don't think so).

John had always known that he was different.

The knowledge had lived in his soul ever since he had been a little child, a feeling of misplacement, of uncomfortableness always accompanying him, telling that wherever he was, with whomever he was, he didn’t belong there. 

He had always been shy and awkward, his body a little too big for him, his heart a little too sensitive. He had always preferred silence, keeping to himself, observing people rather than talking to them, the mystery of human interaction always too big for him, too complicated and puzzling.

The few and far between times when he had tried to make a connection, attempted to belong somewhere, anywhere, it always backfired on him, his complete and utter lack of social skills making the experience unpleasant, leaving him feeling even more clumsy than he had to begin with, further enforcing the idea in his brain that he was different, that there was something inherently wrong in him that rendered him unlovable.

Eventually he had stopped trying, not being able to handle the piling evidence of his inadequacy that kept gathering with every time he failed at human interaction.

The pain of it was too large.

So, instead of wallowing in said pain, and allowing himself to be eaten alive by self pity, he had made the decision to go at it alone. He had come to the conclusion, after much thought, that he didn’t really need anyone to be happy, other than his mother, and that he had music and electronics and cars and tea and with that, he could build his own world.

He had let himself go cold, analytical, favoring his gifted brain over his sensitive heart to process and calculate the world around him, putting safe distance between him and his feelings, between him and everything that hurt. 

This rationality ended up creating a theory which justified his incapacity for being loved, his own lack of love for himself, that explained in a logical fashion everything he had ever witnessed in the world around him: That people were selfish, that they only cared about being loved and couldn’t love someone else first, not even themselves.

He was aware now that he had created this philosophy out of the purest form of self preservation, but back then he had taken it as truth, as a shield, a salvation to which he grabbed onto with both hands and clutched to his chest late at night, when his heartache couldn’t be suffocated anymore and he cried himself to sleep, the bone crushing loneliness inevitably born out of his life’s outlook torturing him.

It had been this loneliness, along with the stellar spot he had given his rational mind in order to save himself from pain, which eventually ended up turning his heart into stone, freezing him all over.

As Deaky looked back he could see clearly how his coping mechanisms had been the real reason behind his heart getting as sick as it had, basically collapsing onto itself like a house that hasn’t been used. 

Because he had purposefully done everything he could not to use it, letting it waste away into dust. 

Well, until he had auditioned for Queen and met Brian May, Freddie Mercury and most importantly, Roger Taylor. 

His unfreezing had actually started the moment he had laid eyes on the blonde. 

The drummer had looked at him curiously for a minute or two after he entered the little rehearsing space where they were auditioning bassists and then, had proceeded to give him one of his most brilliant, cheeky grins, lighting the room as the sun does to a hot summer day, warming his frigid bones, if only a little. 

From then on, his pride on his independence, his cold intellect, even his theory on human selfishness had been put to the test, for he had found himself getting drawn closer and closer to his bandmates.

He felt more comfortable with them than he had with anyone in his entire lifetime and this ease he felt around them kept increasing, little by little, almost without him noticing, as he got to spend time with them, unwillingly (he found out soon after joining the band that saying no to their lead singer was almost impossible), practicing, playing gigs, getting drunk in little bars. 

He was sure his interpersonal skills didn’t get any better after he joined Queen, but for some strange reason, his awkwardness and shyness didn’t seem to put off any of his new found friends.

Freddie always looked at him with warmth in his eyes, called him up on his talent as a musician and engineer enough to make him blush regularly and laughed at his sarcastic comments, whenever he was drunk enough to make them. 

The singer always took him seriously, asking his opinion about everything that went on in the band, sometimes even about other things, such as finances, and though it seemed to John that he looked at him as if he was innocent and in need of protection from the evils of Rock and Roll world, he still treated him with a respect that he had never gotten from anyone. 

Brian always found one topic or another with which to strike easy conversation with him, whether about the internal wiring of his amp or whatever was going on in the research department of the campus they both shared as a school. 

John was shocked regularly, usually in the middle of debate with the guitarist about some topic or the other, about the fact that he had been speaking, actually speaking, with another human, sometimes for hours at a time, out of his own volition. 

Whenever this happened, Brian seemed to notice and had the decency to back away to give him his space, without making him feel like a weirdo for it. 

How he managed this, how he knew exactly what words to use to make it clear that he was ending the conversation for both their sakes and not because Deaky was having an internal crisis about being social, he had no idea. 

And Roger, well, after giving him the smile of the century he had then proceeded to pour honey into his veins by treating him with a familiarity, a closeness, John had never known. 

The blonde always spoke to him in a manner that suggested that he had known Deaky all of his life, sharing his thoughts and ideas about the world with him, asking for his own and then listening with interest to whatever he had to say (and Deaky actually wanted to tell him, which was, on its own, unprecedented), making him laugh, constantly (which was also a feat, for John had never been much of a laugher), and sometimes telling him things that Deaky was sure he never told anyone else (like whenever he felt he had given a bad performance, or felt sad, or how he admired Brian´s brain power, though that had been only once and he had been pretty drunk at the time).

There was just something about him, and John had never been able to pinpoint if it was the way he looked at him, as if he was worth paying attention to and said the cleverest of things, or how he always treated him with a gentleness he had for no one else, that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as inadequate as he had felt, all those years ago, before his brain took over. Because if Roger Meddows Taylor, being who he was, had taken to him seemingly so easily, without him doing anything out of the ordinary for it, if he looked at him the way he did, then he couldn’t be as bad, right?

As it turned out, the glances the drummer threw at him, full of fondness and interest, hadn´t been friendship, but of love. 

As he very much knew now.

It hadn’t taken long for Deaky to go from marveling at the fact that these people made him feel comfortable and that he could actually interact with them successfully, to actively wanting to be with them as much as he could, to caring for them, to honestly loving them.

Not that he had been aware of any of it, with the distance that existed between him and his feelings at the time.

He had only become aware of how much the idiots actually meant to him when he had been more scared of loosing them than dying when Dr. Osborn had told him that he needed open heart surgery.

Then, he had proceeded to panic so much about it, about having let his defenses down without noticing, about being unable to do anything but feel this God damn, dangerous love for these people who could hurt him at any moment, that he had tried to go back to the only thing that he knew kept him safe, which was his cold, calculating self.

The part of his heart that had begun melting and questioning whether he was really as unlovable as he had thought he was had tensed up again, reminding him that years of inadequacy couldn’t be changed by one year of sort of fitting in with a band of weirdos, that the fact that he cared for them didn’t mean they cared for him back and that, the best thing he could do now that he was about to become a liability with his heart growing weaker and weaker by the minute, was to push them away, to remove himself from the equation, before he had to witness with his own two eyes just how replaceable he really was for them, how much he truly was nothing.

Besides, he always did things alone, with the dignity that only graced the forsaken. 

Why should dying be any different?

Thankfully, he thought now, as he listened to the sounds of his family moving around his hospital room, as they tried and failed to keep quiet not to wake him up, it had been far too late for him by then to regress fully into his old ways.

He had tried his damn hardest to, but hadn’t been able to resist the way his three friends had done their absolute best to stay by his side and take care of him, showing him with hard facts that they cared for him as much he cared for them, proving the darkness of what he had believed in all his life, incorrect. 

It had been earth shattering, seeing the lengths to which Brian, Freddie and Roger had gone to be there for him, and though he still hadn´t been able to process correctly just how wrong his life view had been, having had to go to the hospital and fight for his life and everything that had happened, it was evident that what they had done for him had changed him, in a fundamental way.

One of the first things he had noticed, as he gained his strength back, was how much he felt.

His emotions were becoming his friends now, as he was starting to identify them, name them, see where they lived inside his body, let them pass. That was not to say that he wasn’t still scared of them and sometimes didn’t want to see them, particularly when doctors came in to tell him the results of his tests and how his body was faring, but he found that when he gave them space to just be, instead of denying them, they eventually ended up transitioning to something else, instead of choking him into numbness.

Feeling his feelings, it turned out, was a better strategy of dealing with them than drowning them ever was.

This on its own was so monumental, that John couldn’t help but feel (yes, feel!) that no matter how much baggage he still had to handle, how much of his life perspectives and philosophies he had to change, it would be easier now, that he had made peace with what had been once his mortal enemy: his heart.

Deaky was sure that through the month and a half process that had happened between his fainting in rehearsal and the moment in which he was now, he had unthawed completely, and the awkward kid who had once deemed himself defective had died, probably in the operating table of his heart surgery, giving way to who he was now, a newborn in a way, a blank slate of a man, open and willing and ready to enjoy the life that he had denied himself, by trying, ironically, to save himself. 

In an effort to honor this, he honed his hearing and paid close attention to the noises around him, attempting to recognize their sources. 

There were several scratches that indicated pencil on paper. Those were surely Brian and Freddie. The guitarist was probably doing his homework, while the singer was either writing a song or sketching something, Deaky couldn’t be sure.

Then were was faint snoring to his right, snoring he could recognize anywhere after listening to it for the two weeks he had been in hospitalization after leaving the ICU: Roger.

The bassist then focused his attention on his right hand, where the drummer’s own was securely clasped on his, strong hold even in his slumber.

A rush of incandescent happiness rushed through his chest as he felt the weight of the dexterous hand, its warmth seeping into his skin, the little callouses of each finger as they pressed gently against the fleshy side of his palm. 

He couldn’t hear his mother which meant she had already left for work. 

A part of him wanted to open his eyes, to let his best friends know he was awake and interact with them, laugh with them, throw banter at them, quite simply, be with them.

But the other, wiser part of him kept his lids closed, savoring the sweetness of the moment he was in. His scar itched, the central line on his neck burned, and he was slightly uncomfortable from being in the same position for too long but he was alive and breathing and he had Queen.

He etched into his memory the details of how his family sounded, stored into his subconscious the balmy feeling of belonging somewhere, and had to fight the smile that threatened to bloom into his face from the overwhelming sensation he suddenly had of being home.

He lost though.

Nothing happened for a beat, but then there was shuffling and Roger’s husky voice filled his ears: “I know you are up Deaks. You are grinning like an idiot”.

Caught, John preceded to open his lids slowly, surprised to find himself face to face with the blonde, whose nose was just inches away from his own. His mouth went dry as he stared into the blue depths of Roger’s eyes, and marveled at the fact that they were looking at him with such intent, with such naked love in them.

It took him a moment to find his voice, and when he spoke, his tone was so soft it sounded like a salve “Hey…I thought…I heard you were snoring”.

A snort at the drummer’s back startled Deaky, but he recognized it instantly as Freddie’s. The singer’s voice followed then, as he said “he has a radar that makes him wake up at the exact moment you do Deaky, it’s uncanny. And scary”.

“’S not” mumbled Roger into the space between him and John “it’s useful”.

“We should study it, see if we can turn it into a weapon” teased Brian, somewhere in the room, but Deaky couldn’t see him, couldn’t focus his attention on anything that wasn’t the supple lips of his love in front of him. 

His eyes darted quickly from Roger’s eyes to his lips, a grin forming on the blonde’s mouth as he studied John’s expression. 

It took him a second to realize what he was doing, but suddenly Deaky was shifting in his bed, pushing his lips into the drummer’s, feeling as the smile on Roger’s face transformed itself as he kissed him back, tenderly, just a press of their mouths.

Impatient, and following his instincts, John pushed more insistently into drummer’s lips, earning himself a mid kiss chuckle, but achieving his goal as the drummer’s tongue proved against his lower lip, requesting an access that Deaky gave him without wasting a second.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t been kissing ever since he had woken up from his induced coma, heck, they had kissed the exact moment he had come back to consciousness, but all of their kisses so far had been nothing more than demure pecks.

This, right here, was the first proper kiss they had shared ever since Roger had confessed his feelings for him, since that fateful day in which the blonde had kissed him only to have him almost faint because of it, their emotions messy and unruly and not at all clear for either of them.

But now, John’s heart could not only take the kiss but his metaphorical one could actually enjoy it, and though they still hadn’t had time to figure out their relationship and get terms and names in the clear, they both knew they loved each other, had beat incredible odds together, were wired in the close way that only going through hardship together achieved. 

Roger had pulled Deaky back from the death, for God’s sake. What could possibly be more binding than that?

The kiss itself was magical, intimate, the drummer’s skilled tongue dancing expertly with against own, making him feel little twinges of pleasure that sparkled from his mouth all the way to his fingertips. 

He was floating, elation filling him. Nothing was wrong with the world, everything was fuzzy and alive and comfortable and then…he heard Brian and Freddie cat calling them.

Roger seemed to have heard them too for he grinned against his lips and then pulled back. The bassist was about to complain about the loss of warmth against his mouth but before he could get one word out the drummer bent down and gave his pouted lower lip a quick peck.

Then, he twisted completely to face his friends, taking his hands from where they had gone to rest at John´s waist and said, in the most annoyed tone he could muster, though it ended coming out more amused than anything “what.do.you.want?”

Behind Roger’s badly bleached hair, Deaky could see that Brian was sitting in the floor, hiding behind a notebook, said instrument shacking slightly up and down as the guitarist obviously laughed behind it.

Freddie, being Freddie, didn’t attempt to hide what he had done, rather stating matter of factly from where he was perched in Lily’s bed “I wanted to stop my eyes from bleeding at the sight of my baby brother assaulting my other, much more experienced brother, in a hospital bed of all places. Deaky, my dear, I knew you had it in you but seeing it is an altogether different affair”.

“Bloody hell Fred, why did you have to put it like that? Now I won’t be able to get it out of my head. Ahhh it’s awful” said Brian, lowering his notebook to reveal his eyes which, despite what he had said, were scrunched down into almost slits as he suppressed giggles.

From his vantage point, John could see how Roger’s features twisted into fake anger, as he said in a bad imitation of how he sounded when he got really angry “Fuck off, you two”.

“You just can’t stand how sexy we are” defended Deaky, which only got him a round chuckles as response. 

“I know sexy my darling, and believe me, and that is the opposite of it”.

“Shut up” placated the drummer, though John saw how he was defiantly trying to stifle his own snorts now.

Roger then moved from where he had been standing, just to the side of Deaky’s bed, into the coach where the bassist supposed he had been sleeping before and casually laced his fingers with his own, saying “If you can’t stand how Deaky and I kiss, then I suggest you two find another place to put your asses in, for we are about to launch into a full make out session, the likes of which not even Dr. Evans will be able to contain”.

“Voyeur” leered Freddie, standing up from the bed and stretching “how kinky”.

Roger rolled his eyes in time with John, Brain snickering once more before saying “we do have to go though. I have classes and someone” he pointed with his chin towards the singer “has to go earn a living. Lily cannot continue feeding us all”.

“Mum is glad to do it” said John honestly, earnestly, remembering how fondly his mother spoke of his friends. She had fallen in love with them much in the way he had, without intending to but unable to resist the siren song each of the members of Queen sang, just by being themselves.

She had told Deaky, in that serious tone she used only when she wanted to make a point she didn’t want him to forget, that without them she wouldn’t have been able to pull through everything that had happened, and that they would forever hold a place in her heart, and in their tiny family, for they were some of the kindest and most loyal souls she had ever met.

They were certainly the kindest and most loyal people John knew.

His heart swelling yet again, filled with gratitude, he continued speaking, letting his emotions carry him away “she loves you guys, I’m almost sure more than she loves me, almost as much as I…love…you…”

He trailed off, realizing suddenly what he had just said. 

Now, this was not the first time he told the guys that he loved them out loud. He had given each of them quite emotional parting speeches before he went into surgery, but it was the first time he had said it without the pressure of dire circumstances on top of it and that made it different. 

That made it much more real, and raw, because he didn’t have something pushing him to say these things because he didn’t know when else he was going to say it.

He was healthy now, or well, as healthy as he could be. Dr. Osborn had just told him yesterday that every single one of his last tests results had come back perfect (for once, thank God) and that if nothing went wrong in the next two days he was going to be, blissfully, discharged.

There was still much path he needed to go through to get to a 100% of course, had to gain weight and rest and be taken care of (fuck), but he was mostly out of the woods.

He had earned his life back and now had time, the precious resource he had always taken for granted, to get better and rejoin Queen and tell his best friends how much they meant to him.

Therefore he had hoped to do so in a much more gallant fashion and once he had sorted through all the things inside him that still needed sorting but well, he was John Richard Deacon, being debonair was not one of his qualities.

Brian, Freddie and Roger seemed to have taken his words with the same seriousness he had, for they had all stopped doing what they were and had turned their full attention towards him, staring at him with curious looks on their faces.

Brian had stood up from the floor and had stopped putting his coursework into his bag. Freddie had frozen mid step where he had started walking towards his bed and Roger had simply turned his head towards him.

He was the only one whose curious expression was tinted with understanding.

Deaky untangled his hand from Roger’s, shuffling uncomfortably in his bed and almost laughed out loud as his three best friends unfroze (ohh what a word to use) to rush to his aid.

God he loved them, even if he wanted to kill them for overprotecting him so much sometimes.

“I’m fine” he said, voice coming out serious despite his aiming at levity “I just want to get into a more comfortable position, you don’t have to come to my aid all the time, I can do these things now”.

“It’s not that we have to Deaks, it’s that we want to” said Brian, finishing walking towards John’s bed and coming to stand at its foot.

“And we want to” continued Freddie, taking his place on the left side of his bed, opposite Roger “because we love you too, darling”.

“Much more, I’m sure, than you love us” finished the drummer, sitting back from where he had made to stand up, his raspy tone the nail in the coffin of the bubbling emotion that had filled John at listening to those words out loud.

Again, this wasn’t the first time that Brian, Freddie and Roger had told him they loved him but much like with his own admission, it felt much more real said after everything that had happened, felt much more real because this time around, he could recognize it as truth, could feel it in his body (a fire like tingle that spread from his chest up to his throat), could accept it. 

There was no push back from the demons in his mind, no old ways of thinking telling him that what he had just heard was nothing more than platitudes, no old insecurity telling him that he couldn’t be loved.

It finally sank in, after all he had gone through, and it was so powerful it made his hands rush up to his face to cover it, he was… he was loved. His friends loved him. For who he was. Even sick and bed ridden. He couldn’t deny it, didn’t want to. He wasn’t alone. 

Freddie, Brian and Roger finished doing what they had begun when he had tried to get comfortable and they all reached his bed at roughly the same time. 

Roger, taking a seat at his side in the cot, enclosed him in his arms tenderly, carefully placing his head on his chest. Freddie’s cheek somehow ended up on his messy hair, his own skinny arms lacing around the drummer’s and Brian, bless his soul, sat on the other edge of his bed and used his long limbs to bring them all together in a sloppy but warm group hug.

John’s mind reminded him of another group hug they had shared, at the beginning of this all, when they had all marched into his childhood home to convince him to let them help him and suddenly wetness stained his fingers.

He was crying and unlike that time he knew why. He was crying from happiness, crying from relief, crying from being able to feel just how loved he was and how much he loved his brothers, crying because he had the possibility to actually be a family with these idiots, because for once, the only pain he could feel was physical.

“That’s not possible” he managed to grumble between sobs, and the group hug disintegrated little by little as each of its components moved back to be able to see Deaky’s face “You don’t love me more than I love you, that is not possible”.

John carefully swiped at his eyes, finally removing his hands from his face so that he could see Brian and Freddie and Roger. 

They were all looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world and Deaky could have sworn, if it wasn’t for his heart monitor telling him otherwise, that his heart stopped at the sight.

“Let’s make a deal, shall we darling?” Said Freddie, his face warm and open, full of his particular brand of Mercury kindness “no one loves each other more okay? We just all love each other very much. And that’s it”.

Brian, by his side, nodded in support of the singer’s statement, his eyes glassy as if he was going to cry too at any minute.

The blonde though, turned to look at Freddie and Brian, shacking his head slightly “We can all love each other very bloody much guys, but Deaky is mine”.

“Obviously Rog” said Freddie, rolling his eyes as John snorted “I meant brotherly love. How could we forget that you both have the hots for each other if we knew about it for a FULL year before you, and then had to suffer through watching you suck face 5 minutes ago?”

“Freddie!” Squeaked Deaky, indignant.

“I’m just teasing love” replied the singer, and his tone was much delicate and low now. He grabbed one of his wet hands on his own and smiled at him, knowingly “I’m really happy to see you go kissing Roger and telling us you love us and well, so healthy and… god, I don’t know how else to put it… alive”.

“I am alive, very alive” answer the bassist ardently “thanks to you. Honestly guys, I can’t thank you enough for all you did for my mother and for me through this, and what you did for me before that. I’ve been doing some thinking and I see very clearly how I was one person before I meet you and how I became another one after you. What I mean to say is…” he took a deep breath, searching for courage “that with the graciousness you always showed me since I joined the band I discovered that…I wasn’t just a clumsy, lonely boy but that I could also be a friend, a friend you wanted to have around, and I know I pushed you away when all this began so thank you, also, for not letting me push you away and making me understand that I am not nothing to you but that I have a place in Queen, that I am one of you”.

Fuck, he was crying again and his hand was trembling in Freddie’s, but he had started talking and now it seemed like he couldn’t stop “you know? Before…I had this theory that people only cared about being loved and couldn’t love another person or themselves first, and you proved it completely wrong, with everything you did”.

Brian wiped his face with his sleeve as he hiccuped a little. The curly haired man then shook his head and said in a quiet tone “I don’t think you theory is completely wrong Deaks”.

“What?” John answered, a little taken aback by the guitarist’s comment.

“Love” Brian began “is a tricky thing. We all want it, it’s the one thing we all need. We trick ourselves into thinking that what we want is money or fame or a Phd but really, all we want is to feel loved, to be seen, to belong somewhere. That is our primal instinct. As mammals” the guitarist paused at the elbow he got on the stomach from Freddie, who muttered “I’m no bloody mammal”. They all chuckled at the comment, until Brian continued “so yes, people only care about being loved, and only love people because they feel themselves loved and accepted by them. But, how, you might question, do people feel loved and accepted in the first place if the persons that they feel such affection from only care about getting it themselves? Well, because we all have love in our bones, goodness and compassion and unselfishness and all kinds of human, beautiful qualities. But we fail to see them, because we usually spend most of our time with ourselves fighting with our demons and what they tell us, whether it is that we are not good enough or defective, or any of the other storylines that inner demons usually employ. So what happens is that what we can’t see in ourselves we end up seeing in others, reflected back to us. At least at first, because eventually and with time love, the real kind, deepens and forms ties as we get to know and understand people, experience things together and we fall in love with their mistakes and personality and well, that is as far as my understanding goes. I’m a physicist, not a psychologist”.

“You should become one” said Roger, mockingly but with a hint of awe in his eyes at Brian’s explanation.

The guitarist rolled his eyes, adding “Nothing but amateur guessing Rog, and well, what I have experienced on my own. Anyways” he turned his attention back to Deaky ”that means your theory is essentially, correct, just needed a few other elements to make it a little more sound”.

“Which also means” added Freddie, poking John’s nose with the tip of his free finger “that all of that graciousness you thought we had towards you was really the kindness you were giving us, reflected back to you”.

Well, thought Deaky, as he considered Brian’s words, wasn’t this a poetic turn of events. The guitarist’s logic was sound, as far as he could tell, so this all meant that his own stored away love had saved him from himself. And that the love he had for his bandmates was real, as it was cemented, as Brian had said, on experience.

Did that mean… he loved himself?

He considered it for a second, and only for a second because that was how long it took him to come to a conclusion and realize that yes, he did love himself.  Every single part of him, from the one that had been scared as child to the one that had taken the journey that had led him here, where he was now, having survived a surgery with very few odds of doing so, with a family, and a beating, living heart, in every possible sense of the word. 

“Can you see it love? Can you see how amazing you are?” Roger’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Does it sound very conceited if I say… yes?” He laughed, the motion making his chest rattle, and though it hurt a little, his scar still being tender and all, he couldn’t care less, for he knew that this was one of the most honest laughs he had ever felt.

“Yes, it makes you a terrible person” said Freddie, as he let go of his hand and stood up upright. Brian followed his lead and turned to looked at the clock in the wall, wincing a little at what it said.

“I’m sorry you missed you class Bri” said John, honestly full of regret that the guitarist had skipped class because of him, again. 

“I’m not. I like this little group hugs and philosophy talks we keep having. Are we going to still do this once we are famous musicians?” 

“As long as it doesn’t involve Deaky or any of us getting sick, then who knows? We all need material for songs, don’t we?” Said Freddie, going around Lily’s bed to grab his things to go.

“Well, as nice as they are I just hope that we don’t have any necessity for them. We can always write songs from other… experiences”.

“You can’t only write songs about love Rog” teased Brian, who had approached Deaky’s cot to give him a hug good bye. 

“Why do you think they would only be about love?”

“Because you wake up the exact minute that John does?” Replied Freddie, as he too went to hug Deaky warmly, giving him a peck on the forehead as he let him go.

“Fuck you” said Roger, though his face was split by a smirk the size of Sussex, “Really, fuck you two”.

“That’s no way of treating your brothers” shouted Brian, from the aisle. 

The drummer got a hold of one of the cushions that graced the coach were he had gone back to sitting and threw it at the door as Freddie closed it behind him, giggling without control. 

Yes, thought John, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was the end of John's arc and we hadn't had a chapter from his perspective in such a long time, there were a lot of things I had to explain and give context to, hence why it took so long for the action to get started.
> 
> Next chapter (or chapters, I'm still undecided) are dedicated to Roger's arc ending, so that shall get us into the thick of things pretty quickly, since he is the band member with the most chapters to his name.
> 
> I am happy to announce that smut won on the poll, so it will be featured on the next chapter (s). To all that might fret it will ruin the tone, don't worry! I promise that it will involve more fluff than crudeness, if you know what I mean.
> 
> As always, thank you, from the bottom of my weary heart, for your comments. You make me the happiest author alive.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical Note: Healthy heartbeats go from around 60 to 80 beats per minute.
> 
> You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had to search for pain synomisms while writing this fic.
> 
> Want to sob like I did while writing this? Listen to the “Inside Out” soundtrack while you read.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Birds were chirping outside, the sun was beginning to peak through the blinds and Roger had been awake for two hours.

He had spent most of those two hours silently contemplating the rise and fall of Deaky’s chest from a chair at the side of his bed, the way his eyelashes fluttered when he was obviously having a particularly active dream, his profile, dimly illuminated by the scarce medical devices around him.

His cheeks were slowly filling out, his cheekbones not as sharp as they once had been, now sporting a faint blush of color. His hair was messy around his shoulders, longer than Roger had ever seen it, his once small fringe almost covering his forehead now. 

There was no IV on his arm, though the central line on his neck remained attached to a drip on a stand near his bed, the only other thing connected to his body a heart monitor.

Said heart monitor beeped a happy 60, even if Deaky was sleeping, each of the little noises the machine emitted giving Roger’s own heart a reason to keep beating.

His fingers lazily trailed patterns on the palm of the bassist, absentmindedly basking in the warmth coming from the once cold hand of his lover.

Roger tried hard not to think about the ICU these days. It was not always easy. Some part of what he had seen and felt in that God forsaken place would always hunt him, he was sure, something of it would always hurt an everlasting tender spot in his chest.

That was why he kept waking up at the crack of dawn everyday that Lily let him stay with John at night (the only days he got some sleep, really). Because in the relative quiet of daybreak in the hospital he got moments like the one he was currently savoring. Moments in which he could watch Deaky unencumbered, could observe him without anyone bothering him, could listen closely and in peace to every sign his body gave of being alive, indulging in the sweet melody of air coming in and out of his love’s chest in a healthy, steady rhythm.

It was in these early mornings that he tried to replace the ghost of John looking like he was almost dying that still lingered in his memories with the very real, almost healthy man in front of him. 

It was beginning to work. 

Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, but every day he saw John laugh, make sarcastic comments, eat like a decent human being, sleep less and do more on his own, stubborn bastard that he was, he could feel the grip leftover anxiety still had over most of his thoughts and feelings loosening, allowing him to heal, little by little. 

There was no black hole or demon inside of him now, just a dull ache in the previously mentioned bruised underside of his ribcage, spikes of unexplained panic here and there, and his battered emotions, sluggishly piecing themselves back together as they were recognized and seen, processed and forgotten, as new emotions took their place.

Yeah, it was going to take a while, but he would get there. He had one hell of a motivation to do so. Actually, four, but Deaky was certainly the most important one. 

His main motivation rustled under his sheets and languidly scratched at the side of his neck with his free hand, intertwining Roger’s fingers where they had been playing with his palm in his own.

“Hey love…good morning” whispered the blonde, moving carefully to sit in Deaky’s cot, giving in to his need to be as close to the man as possible, the bassist scooting over sleepily to make room for him, their hands still clasped.

“Morning Rog” he murmured back, his voice still thick with slumber “why are you always up so early lately? I remember a time not so long ago when we couldn’t get you to rehearsal before 1pm”.

“I’m not that person anymore” answered the drummer and he surprised himself with his choice of words, the sincerity in his tone and his seriousness.

He still hadn’t made complete peace with who he had been before the hospital, with the boy that had nothing to his name but his love of vodka and his attachment to the idea of being a rock star but he was beginning to, right along with the healing of his heart. 

When he had been waiting for the longest 7 days of his life for Deaky to draw breath on his own he hadn’t recognized his past self, deemed him death, promised to build his new identity in the foundation of his love for John and the awareness of the fact that his feelings were an instrumental part to who he was.

But as time went by and he faced a demon who whispered into his ear that everything that was going right could go to hell from one second to the other he had realized that his past self wasn’t death but very much alive in his bones, just using different coping mechanisms to deal with his always intense emotions, which, as much as he recognized as his strength and could actually accept and face now, he was still figuring out, as evidenced by the restorative process he was currently going through. 

So there really was no new identity to build, no identity to hate, because he was still Roger Meddows Taylor and he still used whatever was within his reach to handle when life hurt him, whether it was booze or internalized anxiety.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t hate who he had been or who he was, for being himself had earned him Deaky and Brian and Freddie and Lily.

So instead of hating, instead of killing, he was beginning to understand, to see his past self and his current self with the compassion that only having experienced deep pain granted, to see himself as a human that had done his best with what he had been given at different points of his life.

Just as he had told Brian not a little over two weeks ago, he was allowed to have been an idiot, he was allowed to have made mistakes. 

The difference now and where he was honoring his promise outside of the ICU was that his love for Deaky was what was giving him a reason and the courage to be the version of himself he was now. Someone that was aware of his emotions, that recognized his coping mechanisms for what they were as they unfolded and that tried, even if he sometimes didn’t achieve it, to observe them, accept them, transform them or dismiss them.

“Or maybe I am” he amended, all of his after thought taken into account, “but, at least I’m trying to be a better rendition of that person, because and for you”.

“My boyfriend is such a sap” replied Deaky, squeezing his fingers slightly and smiling at him his honest, open smile.

“Am I your boyfriend?” Answered Roger, the nervousness he felt at the topic betrayed by the slight waver of his voice.

John furrowed his eyebrows adorably and looked at him as if he had grown three heads “Yeah? I mean…we haven’t talked about it and I figured we would eventually discuss it, but you brought me back from the verge of dying so… I didn’t think the formality of asking and everything else involved mattered that much, specially not to you”.

“Not the same person” Roger repeated and then corrected again “Or rather, a version of the same person who wants to do things right by you, and wants all the attachment and commitment that comes with the asking and the getting a title in place”.

It was true that who he had been not just 2 months ago would have probably ran the other way in a panic the moment formalities were introduced into any relationship, but this wasn’t just any relationship to Roger.

As he had told John when he had first confessed his feelings for him, he wanted the whole package of a steady, exclusive relationship with the bassist, because he loved him and well, as he had come to see in the ICU, he was the love of his life (not that he had told him. He was waiting for him to leave the hospital before he went into declarations as strong as that, hoping for a better scenario).

If this wasn’t enough of a reason to want to make their commitment as formal as possible, the drummer sort of needed the title, because he wanted to have every claim to Deaky possible, even the socially niceties, so that he could be free to become the human shield he wanted to be for him in every way imaginable.

For all his healing, the protectiveness and yes, if he was being honest possessiveness, he felt over John was not giving way, not even an inch, any time soon. The fear of loosing him had been imprinted into his cells too deeply by everything that had happened and though the trauma was diluting, the instinct to protect his love that had been born out of it was not.

He needed to make sure John was his to safeguard and love, to care for and cherish, wanted to bind them together in every possible way so that he would never have to face a world in which he wasn’t with him ever again.

He hadn’t realized he had tucked his chin into his sternum until the long fingers of John’s free hand curled around it gently, pulling it up to stare into his eyes.

Grey met blue, and for a moment neither of them said anything, just stared into each other’s eyes.

Eventually Deaky murmured “You know? Dr. Evans was right because I can recall somethings, not many but some, about the ICU and when I was in a coma. Mostly tiny details, like the fact that the place always smelled like ammonia or the voices of the nurses, but as time goes by more things are coming back to me and though most are not very nice I do… remember…what you told me when you were there”.

Roger tried to scape the grip of John’s fingers on his face but he couldn’t, for he had surprising strength in them. Probably from playing the bass, his brain supplied to him. So instead he broke eye contact and directed his gaze to a faraway spot in the linoleum floor, doing his absolute best to cover for his vulnerability for he knew very well what he had said in the ICU. 

Deaky studied his face for some more long minutes and then whispered, in a velvety soft tone “You said I was the love of your life…and that you would trade your hands for me waking up…”

At that, Roger closed his eyes. So much for him waiting for a better setting for the most substantial words he would ever utter. Why the bloody hell did his declarations always went in a different way than what he intended them to?

The silence in the room was palpable, thick.

He swallowed, hearing the birds still singing outside John’s window. 

“I did say that” he muttered, and then opened his eyes to peer at John, whose lips were curled slightly on the sides, his striking gaze tender on him “and I maintain it. I would trade my hands for your well being, even if it meant not playing the drums ever again and you are…you are the love of my life”.

“Rog, we’ve known each other for only a year”. 

“And it’s enough” replied the drummer fiercely, fighting to stay still in the bassist’s grip, batting away the urge to stand up and tear at his hair, “you don’t know what it is like, and God, I hope you never do, to have the life of the person you care about the most threatened. It makes some things very clear. It sets your priorities in place and your head in your shoulders and it makes you face your truths and things about yourself that you have actively avoided, for all time. Before you John all I wanted was not to feel. Through the time you have been in the hospital I have felt every single emotion possible, every tendril of despair, every spark of happiness, and though fuck, I’ve never been more scared in my entire life than in the past month, I would do it again, all over again, if it meant I would get to kiss you and see you and have you for myself in the end. I would face hurricanes alone for you Deaky, and I’m sure it would be easy, since I already faced all of my demons and my biggest fears for you. You, and not anyone else. You, the love of my life”.

“That is why you keep saying that you are different now” whispered John, tilting his head a little to the side.

Roger nodded lightly as Deaky let go of his chin “Not so different, again, but much more aware and much more courageous. I hope. For and because of you”.

“You know I never meant for you to…” 

“Shhh…” interrupted the drummer, placing a careful digit over John’s plump lips “I know you tried your hardest to spare me. I’m glad I didn’t let you. I wouldn’t change a thing of what happened. It made me a better person”. 

Deaky kissed Roger’s finger carefully and in any other situation the blonde would have found the gesture tremendously hot. Now it only made his heart swell with love.

As he removed his hand from John’s face, the bassist ducked a little and mumbled “It made me better too”.

“I know love” he replied, remembering the bassist’s journey from _I wasn’t going to tell you I was going to have heart surgery_ to how just two weeks ago he had thanked them for being there for him, told them he loved them, and had received a shower of appreciation and affection for his efforts.

Deaky had gone from pushing everyone and everything out to opening up to his feelings, sharing them and accepting the love of those around him. 

He had had quite an adventure himself too.

Freddie was right, damn him. Deaky’s health scare had taught them all different lessons, had made them wiser.

“So you want the formality of the title because I am the love of your life?” Whispered John, his face still low in the space between him and Roger. 

“Amongst other things…” answered Roger quietly.

“Those other things being…?” prompted Deaky, his eyes coming up to scan the drummer’s face carefully.

The blonde hesitated, thinking how best to phrase what he wanted to say and how he felt, without going into full detail, knowing the bassist got easily annoyed when anyone talked about or tried to protect him. Finally, he went with the simple but honest “I want it to be very clear that we are together”.

John considered this for a second and then seemed to accept it as he pushed his shoulders back and his face up to gaze at Roger’s face openly, his cheeks dusted a lovely color of pink as he said “Okay…ask me then”.

Roger could have eaten those cheeks for breakfast, supper and dinner, but as much as he wanted to just burst the question out he still had something to clarify “Do you still think that me calling you the love of my life is premature?”

Deaky shrugged “I never said it was premature. I was just pointing out the timeline, that’s all”. 

“Cheeky little bastard” the drummer said, before he could think it twice. 

“Don’t you throw Freddie’s words at me” answered the bassist, batting his long eyelashes at the blonde. 

Yeah, that was the John he had fallen in love with, and it was amazing to see him back at full speed. The ache in his heart lessened a fraction.

Suddenly, the first reason why he had been nervous about the boyfriend topic in the first place reentered his brain. He had never done this, and he wanted not only to make it right but to make sure Deaky understood that no matter the person he had been before, no matter the fact that he had never had a formal boyfriend or girlfriend and he was known for sleeping around, he was going to honor the bond they already had, a bond he was about to make official.

An old pang of _you don’t deserve this wholesome man because you were a twat_ hit him, but he managed to wiggle his way through it by remembering all the wisdom he had been gaining.

He had to forgive himself for having been that asshat. He wanted to. 

Still not at peace with his old self indeed.

Not knowing what he was going to say, he grabbed both of John’s hands on his own then, and fixed his eyes to his love’s, trusting in his heart to take the lead, trusting in himself to be able to sing _The Ballad of John Deacon_ once again “Deaky, love, there is not much else I can tell you that I haven’t already. There is no way I can show you how much you mean to me or how much I love you other than with what I have already done. You are everything to me…”

There was moisture in John’s eyes as he joked “Don’t tell that to Freddie or Brian”.

“They know it” he continued, his tone lightening for a second before going serious again “I know my reputation proceeds me, I know the promises I can make might seem empty given my track record…”

“Rog” interrupted Deaky, a tear sliding down his cheek “you are not that person anymore, right?”

He could only laugh “No” and he didn’t need to amend it, because in this particular point, he wasn’t. 

John continued “I trust you. You have been here through thick and thin, you have showed me with every one of your actions and words that you love me. That is all the guarantee I need. I don’t care about before. I only care about now”.

And to think that Roger had been so worried about what he was going to tell Deaky. He should have seen a mile away that the bassist was going to be his wise, practical self and know exactly how to make the situation right, was going to come and save him. As he had already done. As he did constantly. 

_The Ballad of John Deacon_ wasn’t just his, he grasped then, it was theirs. They both constructed it together. 

He freed one of his hands and placed it on the bassist’s cheek, wiping at his single tear with his thumb “I will honor you, I will honor the love I have for you, and the man that you make me. I am only for you. I promise”.

Deaky nodded and smiled, leaning his head against Roger’s palm.

This was it, and it felt monumental, because everything seemed to be leading here, from the moment he had heaved outside his van in Brian’s arms to the ICU, to this very second, the love of his life alive and well and acknowledged in front of him.

He took a deep breath “Will you be my boyfriend, John Richard Deacon?”

John huffed out a tiny laugh, though tears continued to fall from his eyelashes, his voice wet when he said “It kind of feels like you are asking me to marry you”.

“Maybe I am” replied Roger, surprised at how close to the truth Deaky’s statement sounded, at how much he wanted just that.

“Maybe you are” echoed John, and he launched himself into the drummer’s arms, central line on his neck and heart monitor be damned, swallowing him whole in a hug that lasted as long as he could without really getting hurt by the medical devices on his body.

As the bassist pulled back and Roger’s hands went back to cleaning his face, the blonde questioned with a frown “You didn’t answer me”.

Deaky snorted softly “I think my actions are pretty self explanatory”.

“The formality, Deaks” reminded him the drummer, playing at the banter game while really meaning his words.

“Okay, okay” placated the man, his hands coming up in a defensive gesture “that’s a yes, Roger Meddows Taylor”. And then he leaned in for a kiss. 

There was no tenderness to this kiss. It was an intense clashing of mouths, a furious rasping of lips, tongues messily tangling into each other in a way that made both participants of the affair breathless.

It was probably the heightened emotions, a part of Roger’s consciousness, one that wasn’t currently in control of his actions, sang, it was probably just the desperate need both had of being as close to the other as they could be, having just exchanged vows of love.

Deaky’s hands went into the drummer’s shirt, caressing soft skin under wrinkled fabric. Roger’s fingers tangled into John’s long hair, making it even more messy than it was in the first place. 

The bassist’s heart monitor was going off the hook as he somehow managed to get himself into the blonde’s lap, probably pulling at all his cables again but clearly not caring, both forgetting their surroundings completely until there was a loud, raspy clearing of a throat that pulled them back to reality.

At the bottom of Deaky’s bed, so close that it was actually a little freaky, stood Dr. Osborn, watching them with disapproval written all over his features.

The second John spotted him he almost jumped off Roger’s lap, pushing himself as far as he could from his now official boyfriend in the small cot in which they were sitting.

The drummer, for his part, stood up as soon as the bassist was off his legs, willing his very obnoxious hard on away by focusing on just how ugly were the veins that decorated the cardiologist’s neck.

So much for not finding Deaky hot. 

“Why do I keep running into you like this, gentlemen?” Said the man then, his tone severe.

Deaky opened his mouth a couple of times to say something, but the sass uncharacteristically died in his throat.

Roger, who had more experience handling situations like this, just shrugged and said “because we are teenagers that love each other?”

Now, it was the time for the cardiologist to be at a loss for words. Still, he gave a hard stare to both of them, shaking his heavy head from one side to the other.

After a minute of silence, he recuperated, his voice still strangled as he said “There will be nothing of this, at least for the next two weeks or until your next appointment with me, understood?”

“What do you mean Doctor?” asked John, and Roger didn’t know if he was further teasing the cardiologist or if he truly didn’t understand what he meant.

Osborn’s cheeks blushed a very unflattering shade of crimson as he blurted “Nothing.of.sex. For the next two weeks. Am I clear now?”

And apparently Deaky hadn’t grasped his first statement, for he stammered, his own cheeks flushing even more than they already were from all the kissing “ohh, yes, sir, understood”.

The bassist seemed pensive for a moment and then added “wait, does that mean you are discharging me?”

Dr. Osborn shook the papers he had been carrying in his hand, a little rumpled now from the way he had squished them when he had found his patient kissing another man.

“Yes” he said, and the judgement in his eyes died as an honest smile spread across his face “you are finally free to go home”.

 

++++++++++++++++++

 

“Why do I keep finding Brian’s pens all over this room?” grunted Freddie as he stashed yet another of the guitarist’s blue ballpoints into the bag in which he was packing away their things.

“Maybe because we lived here for almost 3 weeks?” answered Roger, looking behind the coach to see if any of their belongings had made its way there through the time they had inhabitated the room. 

The day was finally here.

John was leaving the hospital.

It had been a long journey to get there, since after the bassist had been freed from the ICU he had stayed in hospitalization for the better part of three weeks, mostly in observation and rehabilitation. 

There had been an attempt to let him go after the second week, but the team of doctors that consulted on him had decided to keep him a little longer, just to make sure he completed successfully his cardiac and pulmonary rehabilitation while still in the hospital, in case complications ensued.

Thankfully, none had, John excelling at each and every one of the exercises his physiotherapists set for him. 

That was just Deaky, thought Roger, as he threw one of his dirty T-shirts into another bag, he always did his best and with that managed to accomplish incredible feats easily, sometimes, like this time, against the most dire of odds.

There was a surge of pride in his chest at the fact that this brilliant man, this person who learned from his mistakes, who grew and evolved, who could do amazing things, was his. 

“Okay, everyone” said Brian from John’s cot, his tone stern, his mother hen mode fully activated, “so we all know the instructions the doctors gave Deaky for the next two weeks, right? We don’t have any more questions for Osborn, something to ask his pneumologist, something that we might be missing?”

Roger turned to look at him. The guitarist was immersed in John’s discharge papers, each describing the condition the bassist was leaving the hospital in and the guidelines he had to follow during the remainder of his recovery.

Brian had been reading them for the past half hour, going through all in such detail that he had completely missed the jab Freddie had sent his way just 3 minutes before.

His curls were in a wild disarray as he kept tugging at them and there were frown creases on his forehead from how much he had been scowling to himself. 

Roger wanted to hug him. 

Though they had talked with the guitarist about him being allowed to be human, Brian was Brian, and he was still giving his maximum effort to trying to protect all of them, using his frankly superior concentration for detailed work to make sure they missed nothing when it came to John’s after hospital care.

Roger, being overprotective but a complete lost cause when it came to instructions, was very thankful for his friends’ help, but didn’t want to see him suffer for it. 

For a moment, he considered breaking the guitarist’s palpable tension by teasing him and just answering _no mom_ , but after crossing glances with Freddie, the singer pointing with his head in the direction of Deaky’s bed as if telling him it was his turn to help their gentle giant, decided against it.

He then went to sit in the edge of the hospital cot, in the only corner in which there were no papers, and put a hand on Brian’s shoulder.

The man jumped a little in surprise, his gaze automatically going to the source of the hand that had startled him. 

Roger searched for Brian’s hazel eyes and when he found them, he saw stress and confusion registering in them. 

No, this was not what he wanted to see in those eyes, at all. He had to correct it. 

So, keeping the eye contact, the drummer squeezed the guitarist’s shoulder and said “Bri, breathe.  It’s gonna be okay. You are doing more than enough. We will all figure this out”. 

At first Brian’s eyes only showed further confusion, but after a minute Roger felt his shoulder relax under his grip and his hazel gaze lit up, a mix of relief and understanding in them.

“Right” he mumbled, shacking his head a bit “you are right Rog, thank you”.

Freddie, who had been watching them intently, almost screamed “growth!”, pride evident in both his tone and the way his arms stretched out as he pointed at them.

This time, Roger did use his jab “thanks mom”.

Brian snorted as the singer scowled at them, and he looked like he was about to say something else but the bathroom door opening interrupted him.

John emerged from the aforementioned room in a black button down and jeans, his hair combed, his face washed, a grin illuminating his face. 

“How do I look?” He said, wiggling a little in his slightly ill-fitting clothes, this being the first time he had worn something that wasn’t a hospital robe in over a month. 

They all stared at him in awe, because well, he looked fantastic. 

He was still a little too skinny, but there was something about the bassist, something significant, so much more than skin deep, that had changed. Maybe it was the way he stood, his head held high, his shoulders pushed back, a confidence in his stance that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the way he smiled, easy and kind as always, but with a slight extra curve to it, a curve which gave away his open heart, his open soul. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way his eyes glinted, more green than grey, a strange but entrancing combination of hard earned serenity and alive mischievousness swirling inside of them. 

“Well?” He questioned again, when no one answered him.

Freddie was the first one to react, clearing his throat a little before saying “now you definitely have to record for _Liar_.  That way when we sing it live, we can share a mic” the singer turned to face Brian and Roger where they were sitting in Deaky’s bed “I call dibs on him”.

“That good, huh?” Teased Deaky, shuffling playfully on his feet.

“You do…you do look great John” said Brian, swallowing hard and turning to look at Roger, clearly not pushing the subject any further out of respect for the fact that the bassist was his best friend’s boyfriend.

Said best friend was frozen on his spot, almost not drawing any breath.

John had always looked good, but now he looked almost ethereal, for besides all the other changes he had noticed in the brunette as he had come out from the bathroom, the longer he stared at him the more he realized that Deaky was positively glowing, happiness and relaxation exuding out of his every pore.

He was happy and God, Roger had wanted nothing more in the world than seeing his man happy. 

He stood up without thinking, his footsteps heavy as he approached the bassist. He stopped in front of him, just an inch away from his body, and in a rapid motion put one hand in the small of his back, the other on his neck, and kissed him.

This time, the kiss was gentle. It was a velvet soft brush of mouths, a caress from lip to lip, lazy waves crashing leisurely against each other. For more that he tried, knowing full well that Lily could come back any minute now from settling the hospital bill, Roger couldn’t help himself and planted a kiss to the edge of John’s mouth, following it with another to his jaw, down his neck and around the dressing of the wound that had been left when the nurses had taken the bassist’s central line out earlier, all the way to his chest, where he planted his last peck just above where Deaky’s open heart surgery scar started.

Once he was done with his routine, the blonde straightened to look his boyfriend in the eye and said, affection dripping from his voice “You look amazing love”.

“I think we should start kissing each other, just to teach them what it feels like, Bri” huffed Freddie, making the brunette and the blonde turn towards him, a huge smirk on both their faces.

“That was beautiful” was all the guitarist could mumble before Lily came into the room, Dr. Osborn in tow.

The cardiologist frowned at how close together Roger and John were, but it was the woman who voiced her discomfort at the situation “Hands off my kid, Taylor”.

Deaky went the deepest shade of red available in nature, and tucked his head into the drummer’s chest, who, as instructed, took his hands away from the bassist and said innocently “he was touching me, it was not me”.

There was a general sound of disbelief in the room as, without really wanting to, the blonde stepped away from the bassist, going to stand at his side and taking his hand in his instead.

Dr. Osborn glared at them, again (it really seemed to be his hobby), before starting “well, all the accounts are settled. Are you packed yet boys?”

“Mosty” replied Freddie as Brian stood up from the cot and started pilling up all of the papers he had been reading. 

The cardiologist approached John as his friends and mother finished putting their things away and offered his hand out. Deaky took it with the hand that wasn’t in his boyfriend’s and shook it affably “You have been one of the hardest cases of my career Mr. Deacon, but I am unbelievably happy to see you leave in such good condition. Now, as I said, no funny business, exercise, strenuous activity or anything, at all, that might put pressure on your wound or your heart. In two weeks I will see you for your follow up appointment and then we’ll see about letting you go back to playing the bass again”.

John’s face lit up at the mention of his beloved bass, though he wined “I really can’t play for two more weeks?”

“No” answered the cardiologist “also, no alcohol”.

“Really?” Questioned Roger, basically to piss the doctor off.

Osborn, however, didn’t seem to pay any attention to the drummer’s comment and instead moved his massive torso towards him, offering his hand to him as well “you take good care of him”.

“Always” the blonde answered honestly, shaking the heavy hand with vigor. Gratitude, strong an unbounded, cursed through his veins for this doctor, this man who despite disapproving of their choice of partners hadn’t once put a resistance to their relationship, who had basically saved John’s life, had done everything within his power, even going out of protocol, to make sure he made it through.

His tone a little thick, Roger told him “And thank you, doctor. You saved Deaky and I will never be able to pay you for that. I owe you not only his life, but mine”.

“We all saved him” said Osborn, looking at the five of them as Lily took John’s other hand in her own, and Brian and Freddie went to stand next to Roger, their bags packed and in their hands “and he saved himself”.

“Regardless, thank you Doc” added John, bowing his head.

“Well, this is all very nice and good but we need the room for another patient and I’m sure you want to leave so, by all means…” Dr. Osborn pointed towards the entrance of the room and then walked to it, waving a little before he disappeared into the hallway.

“Ready my dear?” Said Lily to Deaky, adopting the quiet tone she almost never used now, having opened up to them in almost the same way her son had. 

John nodded, but didn’t say anything, squeezing Roger’s fingers tightly as his mother, Freddie and Brian all exited the place, big smiles plastered in their faces.

“It’s over now, right?” He said, turning to face the blonde, disbelief painting his eyebrows, eyes, mouth, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

“It is” Roger assured him “You are safe. You are healthy. You are free. And I’ll make sure you continue that way”.

John´s smile was so bittersweet that it broke Roger´s heart. It hurt, but it was also exquisite, pain that tasted so much like happiness, heartache that smelled so much like joy. Like life itself. 

They observed each other and without words let the other know how much they appreciated having had one another through this expedition they had taken to unknown territory, how vital the other had been to them as they faced danger and peril, as they discovered themselves and love.

They joined foreheads and puffed a little laugh of relief, everything they had gone through falling off their shoulders.

It was Deaky who broke the spell, tugging on their joined hands as he whispered “let’s get out of here. We have a life to live”.

Ohh, how much of a life they had yet to live. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this feels like the end, but I promised fluffy smut and I'm going to deliver.
> 
> Of course, next chapter is centered around Deaky's follow up appointment with Dr. Osborn and what happens after it. It's sort of an epilogue of sorts? 
> 
> Anyways, thank you to everyone who has read my story and left comments or kuddos. You guys make me happy as a clam and keep me writing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am very sorry this took me so long, but just like Roger, I wanted to do this right, wanted to make right by the story and all of you, so I took my time.
> 
> I hope I can compensate with how long this chapter is. Close to 8,000 words.
> 
> Enjoy!

Roger caressed Deaky’s cheek as the bassist moaned into the kiss they were sharing. Said man’s hands went beneath his shirt, grazing the line of skin just above the waistband of his jeans, leaving a trail of goosebumps everywhere they touched and making the drummer question whatever deity existed why, ohh why did he have to be the responsible one in his relationship?

How on earth had that happened anyways, that he was the accountable one when Deaky was the other half of their little duo? Deaky of all people!

John’s lack of restraint was evident in his next action though, as he somehow jumped into the blonde’s lap (he kept doing that to him, ever since the hospital) and pushed his clothed erection against his own.

For a moment, he forgot everything, from his name to why he was being cautious and pushed back against his man, making them both grown in unison, a perfect symphony of need.

It lasted for just a second though, because right then his overprotective self, his default mode nowadays, took back the control of his body, making him stop his movements and whisper, in a needy hush that betrayed all the lust running through his veins “Love... love, stop”.

Deaky chose to ignore him, as he often did when they ended up in these situations (which were so common since John had been discharged that Roger still wondered how he hadn’t exploded yet) and went for another push of his hips, the whine leaving his lips as their members touched again so incredibly decadent that it made all of the drummer’s blood boil, to the point in which he was sure it had all evaporated from his body. 

It really took every single ounce of Roger’s will power to put his hands on the bassist’s shoulders and push him back a little, his heart stirring in guilt as the object of his affections emited another sound, this one of disappointment.

When the blonde opened his eyes to gaze at Deaky, what he saw sent a strange mess of signals to different parts of his body.

On one hand, the way John’s pupils were full blown, the swollen red of his lips, the wild tangle of long brunette hair around his shoulders, drew even more heat to bottom of his gut, making him even harder, if that was at all possible.

On the other, however, the straight up sadness that tinted Deaky’s eyebrows, the way his lower lip pouted as if he was a child who had just lost his pet and the angle in which his head hang from his shoulders, as if in defeat, made the blonde’s arms stir and act of their own accord, enclosing the man with strength and pulling him to his chest.

John whimpered, as if he was going to cry, and Roger shushed him tenderly for a minute, before saying, his tone still rough “Love…my love, we can’t do this, not yet, you know this”.

“But…but…” started Deaky, his voice a mix between desire and heartache that made the drummer’s own heart pain with guilt again “I need you” and then he pulled back and met the blonde’s gaze, his still wide eyes imploring “I need to feel your skin against my own, I need to feel you around me, in me… I need you close, closer I… need, I don’t even know what I need but I know it’s you and is more… more than this”.

Roger wasn’t sure what had caused the violent shudder that racked him right then.

Maybe it had been the intensity of John’s gaze, how the deep pools of a grey so thorough it was almost black swirled with emotion as he said the best words the blonde was sure he had ever heard.

Maybe it was that him, that his body, wanted nothing more but to give Deaky what he was asking for, because he needed the exact same thing with urgency, he needed to have the man as close as he could, to fuse with him, to get so lost in his skin and his heartbeat that time stopped and he couldn’t tell where he ended and John began.

Maybe it was that the love that he felt for the bassist, so huge and encompassing, decided to make an appearance by making a warm feeling spread all the way from his chest to his toes, impregnating everything of him, all the way to the air he breathed, the oxygen that fueled him.

Or maybe it had been that, no matter all of the previously mentioned things, he still couldn’t allow this to happen, just couldn’t put their desire before Deaky’s well being. 

“I need it too, love” he answered honestly, pushing a lock of John’s hair behind his ear and caressing his forehead in the process “and we will get it. Everything that you want, much more than this, in just two days. It’s just two days. We have waited this long, haven’t we? We can make it another two days”. 

He plastered the most encouraging smile he could in his features and when Deaky didn’t answer but just stared at him, he went in for a kiss, keeping it just a delicate brush of their lips that the bassist accepted somewhat reluctantly. 

When they parted, John looked serious, though Roger knew him well enough to see that he was trying to hide a smile behind the tight set of his mouth.

The drummer took the opportunity to place another kiss at the side of his mouth, and then on his jaw, and another on his ear and soon enough Deaky was dissolving into giggles, the gap between his two front teeth proudly on display like the sun in the middle of July.

“Stop it” he finally mumbled, in between laughs, and it was Roger’s turn to ignore him as he kissed his nose, making it wrinkle adorably.

“You are driving me crazy Roger Taylor” huffed John, only to earn a wiggle of blonde eyebrows and a “look who is talking” in return.

“This isn’t any easier for me than it is for you love” continued the drummer, his tone much more sober now “I want to ravage you as much as you want to be ravaged” Deaky’s cheeks went a slight rosy pink that really suited his complexion but didn’t match his previous mischievousness “but Osborn said two weeks and two weeks it will be”.

The bassist huffed and place his hands on both the drummer’s shoulders “Look at you, following the rules. You are a different person indeed”.

Roger sniffed a little and answered earnestly “I don’t play with your life”.

“I know” replied John, and kissed Roger’s right eyebrow before standing up “now, let’s go play scrabble and distract myself before I pounce on you again”.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“So you are serious about your rock band?” Asked Dr. Osborn, setting his stethoscope lightly over Deaky’s back and listening intently.

John, having gone through this routine a thousand times, only nodded, knowing full well that any noise he emitted would ruin the test the cardiologist was performing.

Roger, at his side, squeezed his hand, trying to pass his reassurance and love to the bassist through the gesture.

The truth was, John was really pretty calm about the whole situation they were currently in and it had been him that had been freaking out about coming back to the hospital. 

The bassist had opened up to his emotions quite a lot since he had fainted in rehearsal, a lifetime ago, but Roger knew he was still cerebral, highly logical, and could assume from his attitude and what he had said on the way to this God forsaken place that for him, this was just a routine check, that most likely was going to go fine, given how he had been feeling.

The drummer was sure that no matter how uneasy his boyfriend actually felt about the doctor’s appointments per se, how afraid he might even be of it, the man took comfort in facts and evidence, and right now the facts and evidence available pointed, without a doubt, to the conclusion that everything was going to be alright.

Because besides regularly jumping into his boyfriend’s lap, the bassist continued to show signs of improvement every day since he had been been discharged. He had gained weight, was almost back to the skinny but with meat on his bones he had been when he had joined the band, had enough energy to run Freddie (Freddie!) to the ground when the singer looked after him, had already read 2 books on thermodynamics that Brian had lended him and was currently in the middle of completing a _secret project_ (which the drummer was sure was a song), all while his heart gave him no trouble at all and kept a decent average of 70 beats per minute.

Also, he never ran out of breath now whenever he and Roger inevitably ended up snogging, and rather gave the blonde a run for his money for how long they could kiss without needing to part for air. 

So yeah, it made perfect sense that John was taking even Dr. Osborn’s somewhat condescending comment in stride, with a serenity the drummer envied, a composure he was never going to have.

He was, after all, emotion walking, his pores were more open than anyone else’s, and even if he had made peace with the fact, it didn’t make it any easier to live with, didn’t make the fear he felt, fresh and bitter, at the mere sight of the corridors of this hospital, easier to manage.

The curse of his feelings showing on his face must have caught up with him again, or maybe it was just a Deacon gift John and Lily shared, but it was clear Deaky had recognized how much his apprehension had grown since they had arrived because he pulled on his hand slightly, drawing his attention to him and mouthed “breathe”.

The blonde nodded, and tried to do exactly that. 

For an instant, he wanted to kick himself, because, wasn’t he there to support his boyfriend and not the other way around? But then he remembered his previous musings and his growing self compassion, and understood that he and Deaky were a team, and that in this particular circumstance the bassist was equipped to deal with this better than he was, simply because of who they were. 

It was okay if he helped him because he was there with him, and he knew that made enough of a different for his boyfriend (he had arranged with his mother to have Roger go with him to his follow up appointment instead of her, after all). 

Even if he was a tangle of nerves. 

God, was he lucky to have found someone that he didn’t only adore but that complemented him so well, that was strong were he wasn’t, that pushed him to be his very best self simply by being with him.

Then he remembered something another person that complemented him almost as a soulmate had told him once, something in which he found the comfort he needed to handle his worry.

Freddie, in an effort to console him one night outside of the ICU, eyes bloodshot, hands shaking, had given him a phrase that he had held dear to his heart, that had helped him get through the panic and anxiety of those days, that had assisted him in getting through the peaks and valleys of his heart “everything is transitory darling, all emotions, all pain, all joy, every single thing, it all fades, for good or bad, it all goes away. You just gotta hang in there when it’s bad and enjoy the good stuff while it’s there, because it never lasts”.

There was an undeniable bittersweetness to the formulation (wasn’t that Freddie though? Wasn’t that life?), something a little cruel about it that might no have consoled anyone else but to Roger, it rang true because it reminded him, now as it had then, that what he was feeling was not going to last, that this was not the end of the story and rather (and in complete contrast to when the singer had uttered the sentence) there was good stuff now, the evidence that held Deaky’s aplomb, that was there for him to cherish, if only he was courageous enough to see it.

It dawned on him then that bravery was as required in the good times as in the bad, maybe even more, for it did take guts to pull your face towards the light, even if it was there, when you had walked so long in the darkness.

Another phrase by Freddie entered his brain “you will see the sun again love. You will actually get to feel it in your skin again”. 

And the singer was right. John being so healthy, even if they were in front of his cardiologist, was the sun. He just had to let it touch his skin. He just had to stop focusing on the dark.

He thought he had been healing the day Deaky had been discharged, but as it turned out, he had been missing this vital piece of wisdom to truly step away from gloom, to which he had arrived thanks to the image of Freddie Mercury in his brain.

Damn Freddie Mercury, and how incredible he was, even in Roger’s imagination. 

He would have to thank him later. 

For now he let the most honest of his smiles rearrange his face and aimed it towards John, finding traces of the light he had been so adamantly thinking about in the silkiness of his boyfriend’s hair, the lack of dark circles under his eyes, in the steady hold of his warm hand.

Everything was okay. Deaky was okay.

Another deep breath.

“So” said Dr. Osborn, finishing up with his stethoscope and moving from the examination space where he had been checking on John to his desk, on the other side of the room, motioning to both of them to follow him and sit “everything seems to be in order. The wounds are pretty much perfect, your heart beat and heart function are at a 100%, your lungs sound pretty well. How have you been feeling?”

“Like a new man” answered Deaky, beaming at the doctor as he settled in one of the chairs in front of the cardiologist’s desk, Roger taking the place next to him and grabbing his hand, like he did now all the time, “like if I never had anything wrong with me in the first place”.

Dr. Osborn smiled at his patient before turning to look at the blonde “And how has he behaved?”

“Not bad…” he trailed off, huffing, and John took the opportunity to fake punch him in the arm “he is reckless…sometimes…with somethings…”

“Roger!” Almost shouted Deaky, covering his face with his free hand in embarrassment and making Dr. Osborn’s features contort into a grimace.

“But” he continued “he has been mostly careful. I’ve made sure of it”.

The cardiologist hummed in disapproval and bowed down to write something in John’s file, which had been previously brought up to them by a nurse “And how have you seen him?”

“Well” answered the drummer truthfully “let’s just say the other day he had us play 5 games of scrabble in a row because he was bored and bursting with energy. Which didn’t help at all for he ended up forcing us to watch movies with him until 2am. All of us fell asleep. He didn’t. He eats more than me lately, which is unheard of, has read more than our guitarist, which is also unheard of and really is too vital… fancy word but I don’t know a better one to describe him… to be… sick…anymore”.

And there, saying it, acknowledging it out loud, really seeing it, finished the job his mind had started just a few minutes before, the job his heart had started even before, as John opened his eyes from a coma, and let the sunshine sink into his wide, open, vulnerable pores. And he was grateful for them being so big, for he felt the warm radiation enter his  body quickly, efficiently, traveling to his core and leaking into his blood stream, fuzzing with his cells.

There were still corners of him that were more shadow than light, there would always be, but for now he let the feeling of relief as his whole self basked in the sunlight of everything good that was happening around him wash over him, finally, finally letting go of the shade that had been following him around since the first time he had seen John pass out.

Dr. Osborn almost chuckled at his words, completely unaware of the how they had changed his insides as he said them, and lifted his chin to face them, saying in a happy tone “Well, I like your fancy adjective. Vital is the word we were looking for, when it came to how we wanted John to be after his surgery. It seems like we achieved it”.

The cardiologist folded his fingers in front of his chest and directed his full gaze at Deaky, who straightened under the attention “Now, no matter how good you feel John Deacon, you still have to take care of yourself.  Avoid any and all illness, eat healthy, exercise and… any other thing you want…though start mildly, please. You can drink alcohol, but never in excess. I get you are in a rock band, and that you are still somewhat of a teenager, but you are a heart patient for the rest of your life and that has to take precedence over everything else, understood?”

Deaky nodded, shaking a little and squeezing Roger´s hand to the point it almost hurt as he said “that means I can play the bass again? Go back to school?”

Dr. Osborn’s smile this time was genuine and big “yes! You can, both of those”. 

And then he stood up, ushering them to the door and opening it for them when they reached it, still hand in hand, adding “I’ll see you for your next appointment in 6 months Mr. Deacon. And please, remember your humble cardiologist once you are a rock star”.

“I will do Sir” John said, his grin completely splitting his face. “We will”, he added, as he turned to look at his boyfriend and kissed his cheek soundly as they left, making Dr. Osborn roll his eyes and Roger smirk, his whole body still humming in respite, vibrating with the kind of happiness that he thought existed only in the movies, that he never thought, when he was a child scolded by his parents for being “too much”, “feeling too much”, he would ever have.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

It had started in the parking lot.

Neither of them had said a word as they made their way out of the hospital, only beaming at each other like idiots every time they made eye contact.

Both of them were just so joyful, felt so free knowing that the official ruling said that John was as healthy as he could be, could do as he wanted (which also meant they both could do as they wanted), that they hadn’t known what to do with these feelings or with themselves, at first.

But only at first, because as soon as they had reached Roger’s van, it had taken just a wrong move from the drummer to make it pretty clear that what they both wanted, or needed really, to do with their new found power, or rather privilege, included nudity. 

The drummer had opened the door for Deaky, as he did most times, a bit because he liked being chivalrous, a bit because his main goal was always to take care of the man, and as he helped the bassist climb into the shotgun seat of his car he somehow managed to press his crotch against John’s leg, making them both shiver. 

It was just a fleeting touch, an honest accident, that lasted no more than 3 seconds, but it was enough to send an electric jolt through both their bodies.

It was as if time stopped after that. 

Roger could feel, very clearly, the pounding of his heart in his chest as it speeded up, could feel how every one of the hairs on his skin stood on its end, could feel how his lungs filled to their full capacity with air as he gasped deeply. 

He could also feel the heaviness of John’s gaze as it went to his mouth, as if it was infrared light trying to fry away his nerves, could see the hunger rising in those grey eyes he loved so much, could feel how starved Deaky was for him, for a kiss.

And who was he, to deny the love of his life what he wanted?

Having been released by Osborn, the part of his mind that had so carefully been restraining his own longing let itself loose, or looser, at least, allowing him to place a hand behind John’s neck right there and then, in the middle of the hospital’s parking lot for God’s sake, and pull him in for a furious kiss. 

Deaky moaned into their joined mouths as soon as they made contact, that sweet sound that the blonde was sure was going to be the end of him someday, and bit into his lower lip, surprising him and making him gasp for the second time in a handful minutes. 

Roger returned the favor, making John heave too, and just as his other hand was going into his t-shirt the bassist pulled back, whispering between pants “Public space. Mum gone. We have three hours”.

Now, nothing of what John had babbled would be deemed grammatically correct in any court of language, but to the drummer, it made perfect sense.

Tearing himself from his boyfriend and going to the other side of his beloved van to drive them back to Lily’s house was probably the most difficult thing Roger had ever done, but he managed to do it, his mind still half dazed by lust.

The drive itself was spent in complete and utter silence, tension heavy between them, only broken by Deaky’s quiet sobs whenever Roger’s thumb stroked down his own, as they held hands.

The drummer had become quite proficient at driving with one hand over the past two weeks, as he took John wherever he wanted or needed to go, so that he could hold hands with his boyfriend as he did so. 

It wasn’t a comfortable or easy thing to do, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he had to release John’s hand every few minutes to change gear, didn’t care that his left hand had to multitask pushing several buttons that he would normally do with his other, didn’t care about anything but the way Deaky’s eyes would glow up every time his gaze traveled to their joined palms on his lap, and a big, rosy smile appeared on his lips.

Though now instead of sweet smiles and the fluttering of eyelashes, John was giving him muted whimpers and half everted whines that made it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate on the road.

That didn’t stop him from caressing the bassist in this tiny way though, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin and extract from him whatever melody he could. 

Once they finally, finally arrived at Deaky’s childhood home, there was a shift in the atmosphere, however.

It was brought up by the way John looked at Roger the moment he closed the door behind him.

The drummer had expected the bassist to jump on him and get on with the business they had both started and looked so eager to get to when they had been in the parking lot, even in the van, but instead Deaky, sweet smile back in full display, gaze tender, closed the distance between them in two strides and hugged the blonde.

And this wasn’t a normal hug, like the ones they had shared before.

This hug had John place his head on Roger’s shoulder, had the drummer’s chin hook in Deaky’s shoulder blade, had two sets of arms strongly embracing two torsos, had two hearts beating in unison, two souls melting in one. 

They just hold each other for what could have been five minutes, could have been a decade, and it wasn’t as if Roger was counting, for he had never felt as good, or as thoroughly complete, as he felt then. 

It was probably the first time in all of his life that his full senses were engaged, that he was in the present moment, that he wanted or needed nothing more than to be where he was. 

He could smell his favorite detergent in John’s clothes, could make out the faint trace of peppermint his tea left on him. His arms felt the fibers of Deaky’s shirt, the muscles of his back, nimble but strong. On the side of his neck he could trace the patterns John’s breath (that precious, precious breath) was making on his skin and though his eyes were closed, the last image of the bassist walking towards him lingered in his eyelids, slightly obscured but no less clear.

His ears could pick up John’s breathing, as even as if he was sleep, obviously peaceful, just as he felt, and if he tried, he could still taste his boyfriend’s mouth on his, the faint mix of toothpaste and musk that he had come to know so well. 

And this was… this was probably the most intimate thing they had ever done, the most intimate moment Roger had shared with anyone to be sure, the completely conscious sharing of an embrace, of a few minutes in which nothing mattered but the two of them.

The drummer had shared his body with plenty of people before, had taken his clothes off without thinking about it hundredths of times but never before had he felt himself unravel like he was doing now, just hugging Deaky, had never felt whatever defenses he still had left disappear so effectively, had never been more vulnerable, his core so exposed. 

John’s embrace had not taken his pants off but it felt as if it had taken his skin, his muscles, even his bones, it felt as if all that was left of him were his heart, his lungs, his nervous system, held together by Deaky’s love, by how he was loved and how he loved back.

Roger thought it couldn’t get better than this, was sure this was as good as life got but then John said, voice shaky “I love you Rog. You are the love of my life too and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before but…” and he pulled back, leaving the drummer shuddering in need, but of a kind unknown to him until then “my brain is still catching up a bit, with everything, you know? With everything that has happened and with you… you… loving me…and I know it, I know it like I know there is iron in my veins and I have seen it and I feel it but…. You are going to think this is silly…” he ducked his head and the blonde grabbed onto his chin before he could go low, pulling it up to see into his eyes, green again, as unguarded and honest as he was sure his were too.

“Please love… tell me” he whispered, meaningfully, earnestly. 

“My brain still tells me… sometimes… that you… that you loving me… is too good to be true…” Deaky closed his eyelids for a beat and then opened them widely, shaking his head slightly “and it’s not you love, it’s not that you are doing something wrong, God, you have done everything right, it’s just my weird brain that even if I have healed a lot still… messes me up… sometimes…”

Well, wasn’t this something Roger could understand? His inner Freddie Mercury popped into this own brain and reminded him “it takes guts to pull your face towards the light, even if it’s there, when you have walked so long in the darkness ”.

And then an idea occurred to him. Something Freddie Mercury himself had written for them, that he hadn’t come around to show John just yet but that might help him make his point hit home now, that would maybe help him point Deaky’s face towards the light.

He cleared his voice and then started singing into the silence around them, his falsetto crisply cutting through the stillness “you will remember, when this is blown over, and everything’s all by the way, when I grow older, I will be there at your side to remind you, how I still love you…I still love you…”

John blinked for a couple of times, his expression grave. Roger was a little taken aback from this reaction, wondering if he had somehow managed to screw things up when his intention had been only to make his boyfriend feel loved, but then Deaky closed his eyes and began singing himself “you’re the first one, when things turn out bad, you know I’ll never be lonely, you’re my only one, and I love the things, I really love the things that you do…” his voice cracked and wobbled as he finished “ohh you’re my best friend…”

The drummer’s first response was shock, for he had never heard John sing on his own or out of his own accord before. Every time he had sang in the past, it had been with all of them, as part of a chorus, and it always took extensive convincing for him to even consider doing it.

So to hear Deaky’s voice like this, raw and full emotion, only for him, made his heart flutter, for he knew that what he had just witnessed had been an act of courage and love, something unprecedented. 

And then it hit him that these lyrics were probably the _secret project_ his boyfriend had been working on… and then he figured he had written them for him and then… the distance between them was unbearable.

John’s clothes were unbearable, his own were even worse and he needed, he needed skin, he needed to have Deaky, he needed him as close as he could and did his best not to chuckle at the fact that this had been almost the exact same words John had used two days ago, as he had stopped them from going all the way.

But there was nothing stopping them now, was it?

“Love…”he mumbled, forcing himself to speak with the bassist about this before he took it further, wanting to have everything clear and out in the open, wanting to do everything right “those lyrics were… that song… I want you and I need you and I just…”

Deaky, as per usual, saved him from himself, uttering the words that kept clogging up his throat as a wave of emotion pushed itself through him, love, adoration, lust and happiness choking him up “we are doing this, yes. I want to do it. I am consenting. And yes, I am a virgin and yes, as eager as I have been before I have to come clean and accept that I am a little nervous and not because of my heart but because I know you’ve had … and I won’t know what to do…”

This time Roger did chuckle “you know exactly what to do love. Haven’t you seen how crazy you make me?” And then he sobered up and added “Obviously I couldn’t be further away from being a virgin… but in a way I am too because… yeah, I have never made love before…” and he couldn’t help but blush and hide his face behind his hands.

John’s own hands gently pulled his away from his face, a small smile playing on his lips “Not the same person” he reminded him and then he kissed him.

And this time, it was with purpose.

As their lips slotted together, in a play between tenderness and need, Deaky pushed them into the living room, from the landing where they had been standing since they had entered the house, until Roger’s knees hit _Deakyland._

“We are going to defile _Deakyland_?” He murmured between hungry mouthfuls, John huffing slightly as he panted “God no, my room, I was aiming towards my room”.

Roger laughed as his lips got a respite from Deaky’s, his giggle cut short when the bassist’s lips found a spot under his jaw and sucked there. He got lost in the sensation, as the man worked his way down his neck and into his collarbone, loosing all track of what was going on until he found himself laying in John’s bed, without a shirt on.

He had no idea how that had happened, but he couldn’t tear his focus from the feeling of Deaky’s callous hands as they roamed his torso, his back, his shoulders, sending little sparks of electricity to every one of his nerves.

In some crevice of his mind he remembered he had never been touched like this, so throughly, since every time he had went to bed with someone it had always been a race to get to the peak of pleasure without bothering about any other specifics. It had always been frantic and quick and as impersonal as it could get.

It was so different from what he was getting now. 

He regained his consciousness enough to raise his head and catch as John was hesitating in the removal of his shirt, playing with its buttons instead of actually opening them.

“What is it love?” He inquired huskily.

Deaky looked bashful “it’s just that… I am not…” 

Roger put his elbows behind him to swing himself into a sitting position, cocking his head to one side as he said “I don’t know what you think you are not, but I can assure you, there is nothing I have wanted to see more than that stomach” he stood up, making his way to John slowly and taking his hands in his and batting them away from the shirt “and those ribs” he took to the bottoms himself now, clicking them open “and those scars”.

“It’s not the scars” said Deaky, his tone a little defensive “I love my scars. I happen to think they are lovely and they are a great reminder that life has to be cherished… it’s just that… I am not as beautiful as you Rog…”

Another verse of _Love of My Life_ then, decided the drummer’s brain, awestruck he remembered the song so well since he had only read it a couple of times, when Fred had shown it to him, “Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know, what it means to me…”

By the time the blonde had finished singing, his boyfriend’s shirt was hanging from his shoulders, fully open.

The drummer put his hands on John’s shoulders and waited for the man to give him permission, proceeding to take it off as Deaky sang “Ohh, you make me live, whatever this world can give to me, it’s you, you’re all I see…”

Roger smiled into John’s neck at the lyrics, returning Deaky’s graces in kisses around his shoulder blades, stopping when he reached the long, still red scarf in the middle of his boyfriend’s chest.

He took a step back to contemplate that torso, to etch into his brain it’s current state: Ribs hidden by muscle and fat, skin pale but solid, slightly blushed under his gaze and the scars… three of them, the main one, not perfectly straight, clearly made by humans, a little thinner than he remembered it, the markings of surgical staples peppering it on either of side of it, and the two little ones, from where the tubes draining fluid from John’s lungs had been, thick, horizontal lines, just an inch or so wide, each five fingers or so down the bassist’s nipples. 

It was so different from what he had seen in the ICU. It was truthfully the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

He couldn’t help himself from saying so, couldn’t help himself from launching into a full, skin to skin hug of the breathing, living human that was in front of him, and he tried to bat away the image of Deaky on his death bed as it tried to enter his mind by letting the warmth of John’s skin enter through his fingertips, savoring its texture.

He was alive, he was alive, he was alive, and he had almost not been but by some miracle he was and he was almost naked in front of him and he was his.

“I am yours” Deaky confirmed, hugging him back, and Roger realized he had said all he had been thinking out loud as John continued “and I am alive because of you. You brought me back, I came back for you”.

A beat of tender silence and then “Ohh, I’ve been wandering ‘round, but still come back to you…”

And the drummer, well he couldn’t take it anymore.

He efficiently pulled himself away from the hug to tug his pants and knickers off and then Deaky’s, who snickered at the blonde’s actions and then… they were naked in front of each other.

John’s breath hitched as Roger’s mouth came to rest on his shoulder again, and then to his scars, kissing each gently, and then his nipples, making him moan loudly.

The drummer’s hips trusted into John’s without meaning to at the noise and then it was the bassist who was trusting back, their dicks sliding against each other, way eased by precum. 

The movement made both men heave, and then it was Deaky pushing them both into his bed, Roger underneath him.

John’s long, auburn hair cascaded around them as they hit the mattress, shielding them from the world as their mouths slotted together, tongues caressing each other, playing, battling, tasting, prodding, nuzzling.

Their hips trusted sloppily as they grasped at each other’s bodies, fondling, rubbing, massaging every wisp of skin they could get their hands on, both clinging to the other, holding dear everyone of their touches, every moan and every whine and whimper they made.

Deaky’s breath became more labored by the minute, and the drummer had enough presence of mind to stop the proceedings to say “Love… love stop…love are you alright?”

“I am” came the murmur from his boyfriend as he sat back and into his heels, effectively straddling Roger’s lap, the movement making their dicks slide together again and making them both moan loudly. 

“But I won’t be” he continued, “if we don’t get on with this” and he gestured at both their tall, proud erections “Rog… I need… I need more than this… please…”

“But Osborn said…” started the blonde, all of his will concentrated into not trusting into John and not coming at the sight that he made, naked, on top of him, hair messy, pupils wide, bitten lips.  

“…to start slowly” completed the bassist, looking a little defeated, his tone filled with bitterness.

“Love… hey, look at me” whispered the blonde, pushing himself up on his elbows again.

When the bassist did so, he smiled at him, putting all of his emotion behind the facial expression “I love you. And you love me and this, this is just the beginning. We will get to do this for all of our lives, take it much further, but right now, right now I need to take care of you because you being safe is… well, it is my sanity Deaks”.

“Will you ever stop? Overprotecting me, I mean?” Said John, biting on his lower lip and making Roger’s resolve shake.

“No” he answered truthfully “never”.

“I thought so” answered Deaky, though there was a gentle smirk on his features now.

“Let me take care of you now, okay? In every sense I can. Just… trust me, alright?”

“Always”.

The drummer shifted on the bed so that he was almost resting against the headboard. Then he gestured for John to come and sit on his lap, arranging his legs behind him once he had done so, in the space he had left between him and the previously mentioned piece of furniture.

The bassist’s legs gripped his waist instantly once they were in position, making their erections brush against each other again, whimpers tumbling out of both their mouths.

Roger placed John’s hands on his shoulders, angling his head up to catch his lips. As Deaky answered the kiss, he cocked his head to one side, making his sheet of hair curtain again around them.

“I love you” he whispered around the kiss, letting his calloused hand enfold both their erections, pumping on slowly at first and then picking up momentum, building a rhythm, their rhythm, the rhythm of the bass and the drums playing together, the rhythm they created by being together.

“I love you so, so much” he repeated, as the bassist pulled back from their kiss and closed his eyes, throwing his head back in pleasure, his hair going with him.

“You are everything to me” he panted and John’s grip on his shoulders tightened. He was close now, so close, and the noises Deaky was making, obscene and as full of desire as they were of love, weren’t helping him. 

The bed cracked under them as they both trusted into this fist, and John’s moans became louder. 

He started chanting “Roger, Rog, Roger” as he brought his head down to kiss him again, biting into his lower lip hard when he spilled into his lover’s hand. 

The drummer followed suit, just a second after him, this orgasm different from all others he had experienced for this one started in his heart, somehow, expanding from there to every one of his cells, sending a wave of heat, searing, into every crevice of his self, reaching all the way into his atoms, so much so that for a second he wondered if he had come apart and was now nothing more than energy, floating and fusing with the oxygen of Deaky’s pants. 

His free hand, which had come to tangle itself on John’s hair, let go of it, and came to caress his cheek gingerly, making deep grey eyes meet his blue.

“How are you love?” He whispered, unable to hold back his beam at the softness of Deaky’s gaze.

The bassist’s voice was very quiet as he sang “You’re my sunshine, and I want you to know, that my feelings are true,  I really love you…ohh, you are my best friend”.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“Deaks, I have to confess something” Roger said, as he came to lie next to the love of his life on his bed, having just finished cleaning him up and then himself, with the care only someone who worshipped another could.

“That you didn’t write _Love of My Life_?” Said the bassist, as he shifted closer to him, putting his head in the space between the blonde’s jaw and his shoulder. 

“How do you know?” Answered the drummer surprised, snaking his arm below Deaky’s waist and putting his hand on his hip, a little protectively, a little possessively. 

“Fred showed it to me, a few days ago. Said he had given it to you before but he wanted me to see it too. He said…” he trailed off and the blonde was tempted to move from their comfortable position to see John’s face, but he was so exhausted and blissed out as he was, that he couldn’t really summon the will to shift. 

Thankfully, Deaky continued “He said you might not want to show it to me because it tells the story of what he saw you going through, when I was in the ICU”.

“Ohh” was all he managed to say because well, it was true. He had hesitated to show the song to his love for that reason and the fact that… it was a sad song. A very sad one. 

“You didn’t want me to feel guilty about putting you through that, did you?”

“No” he said after a pause, cause that was true too. 

“But you still sang it to me?”

Darn it, he would have to move. 

He shimmed from where he was so that he was laying on his stomach, elbows holding him up, a hand lazily tracing patterns around John’s scar. 

Then he started “The thing is… Fred is a really remarkable song writer because that song… it captures what I felt in those moments exactly and it does contain in it the sorrow and the pain but also, the love Deaks… and those were the parts I sang to you, if you paid attention… the parts that talked about this crazy love I have for you”.

John’s tooth gap got a little air as it appeared in front of the drummer “I…understand. I really do, both why you didn’t want to show it to me and why you sang it. I know about crazy love myself… why do you think I wrote you your song? I mean, it’s still not finished but…”

“It’s perfect!” Roger said, feeling his heart do a full summersault “Honestly love, it’s beautiful and I can not even being to tell you what it means to me”. 

“Thank you” muttered the bassist humbly, looking at the drummer’s hand in his skin “I’ve never… I never thought I could write a song, I never though I would be in a band, I never thought I would have Brian and Fred and you… I never thought I would have you and the future we have and really Rog, I know _Love of My Life_ is a sad song and I put you through honest to god misery, all of you, but… is it horrible from me to say that my heart surgery was probably the best that ever happened to me? Because it brought me here and here is where I want to be”.

The blonde considered his love’s words and realized that he had achieved his mission, for what Deaky was doing right now was pulling his head towards the light, and stepping away from the darkness, he was being…”I think it’s incredibly brave, my love, to see what happened to you as a blessing rather than a curse. The easy way out is to see all the pain it brought but we, you, don’t do the easy way out, not anymore, not after everything and now we can both see this episode of our lives as what finally brought us together, as maybe the most important of our lives”.

John nodded and whispered “so no more shying away from _Love of My Life_ , yes?”

“No more” replied Roger and then leaned in, enclosing Deaky’s lips in a kiss that reached down to his center, that racked him to the very bottom of his soul.

As the years went by and the band became bigger and bigger, it would always be an emotional moment for them, whenever Freddie and Brian took the stage to sing _Love of My Life._

Roger and Deaky would escape backstage to hug and kiss, to sink into each others arms and reaffirm the promises of love they had made through the years, to sing into each other’s ears what to the drummer would always be part of _The Ballad of John Deacon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is emotional for me. 
> 
> Writing this story was a challenge and though it hurt I loved every moment of it. 
> 
> It took me 6 months but it will always have a place in my heart, as will all of you, the people who read and commented and kuddoed it.
> 
> Every single one of you kept me writing and kept me on my toes, kept me trying to improve and be a better writer.
> 
> I cherish every moment you all took to read my story, whatever of your resources and time you used for it, I am humbled by it and I am thankful to you, from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> I love you all, and I love Queen, not to be dramatic, but till the end of my days.
> 
> In the meantime and while I get another story together, I am @unlikelysunny over at Tumblr if any of you have questions, suggestions or just want to chat about the boys with me.


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